Latent Heat
by Terraform
Summary: It all changed one night... Donatello on his developing relationship with April O'Neil. Written by Novus Ordo Seclorum & Terraform.
1. The Catalyst

**Author's Notes:**

**Terraform:** So here it is! This is what happens when two FF-ers with a penchant for writing Donnie and April fics join forces without even a plan. What began as writing exercise evolved into what you see here, and after months of volleying this story back and forth (from several lines to what became several pages per switch over) we finally got to the point where it can be posted. This would not have been possible without my partner in crime (kryme?) Novus Ordo Seclorum who has not only written half of this story with his characteristic flair and gravitas and all around incomparable talent, but was also kind enough to edit it! AND title it (I won't even get into what titles were proposed). You rock, Novus, I am lucky you chained yourself to this project. And to anyone who hasn't already, go directly to his profile and read his stories and prepare to be mind-blown! Anyway, strap yourself in, things are going to get a little salacious.

**Novus:** It is important to note that Terraform and I have written this story in what could be considered an unorthodox manner. Back in May, she PMed me a prompt. It was a few sentences long (the first few of the story, actually) and where it led was left entirely up to me. I added my sentences and sent it back to her and so on. This continued over the course of several months until the story we are about to share was completed. Working with Terraform has been an amazing experience and one that I have thoroughly enjoyed. I am humbled and honored that she chose to write a story with me and I have grown as a writer through the experience. That being said, I hope you all enjoy the story!

* * *

**Latent Heat**

Chapter 1: The Catalyst

A league beneath the surface and with only two of us in the living room, there was more life going on inside my head than all the Indian Ocean. And have you ever looked at a single drop of sea water under a microscope? Crab larvae, cyanobacteria, copepods - just to name a few of the glassy critters –they _infest_ the stuff.

"Donnie?" she says.

I turn my head to answer, as if I had only been paying attention to the TV.

"What's on your mind?"

She pulls a stray strand of hair behind her ear and smiles; I swallow the lump in my throat and try to ignore the blood rushing to my face.

"Erm…uh… nothing, nothing at all! I was just, um…" In a panic, my mind snatches words from the peripheries of my mind. "Did you know giraffes have the highest blood pressure in the animal kingdom?"

Her brow ruts in confusion. "I remember learning about that in biology…kind of a necessity with those long necks. What brought that up, Donnie?"

I feel like slapping myself across the face. This ALWAYS happens.

Then I notice the span of silence becoming way too long. How the heck do I end always up in a tangle of my own weirdness? Stupid giraffes, I'm never going to bring them up again. _Think,_ I tell myself, _think, think, think...__  
_  
"I...uh..." I clutch my neck and clear my throat as I desperately try to cover for myself, "Th..thirsty?"

She buys it. But as she nods I see something a little artful in her grin—and suddenly my heart is pumping as if trying to cope with the blood pressure of a giraffe.

"Sure. What's on offer tonight?"

I make a mental note to always bring up giraffes.

With my heart in my throat, I walk to the refrigerator. How is it that I can take things apart and put them back together without a second thought but I can't get through a conversation with her without making a fool of myself? Groaning, I open the fridge and survey its contents: a box of day-old pizza takes up one shelf, another is lined with various cheeses—from gouda to mascarpone, and another holds a giant pot filled with one of Mikey's creations, sure to test the intestinal fortitude of anyone daring enough to sample it. Only when I slide open the vegetable drawer—Raph's 'hiding place'—do I find what I'm looking for: several bottles of beer hidden beneath the assorted greens.

"It doesn't look like we have much… It has been a while since we picked up supplies. All we have left is beer."

She smiles at me. "Don't fuss, Donnie. Beer's fine."

I pop the caps and sling the icy beer necks between my fingers as I walk back to her, trying not to let my nerves belie me. April and I have enjoyed many a drink together in the past—as friends, of course. From decompiling programs to writing code, even to just completing a crossword puzzle, it had become almost customary to reward ourselves, every now and then, with a tipple. Those conversations were interesting to say the least, and I often find myself wanting to permanently take residence in their memories—where we laugh and talk into the early hours of the morning, where she grabs my arm and tells me that I'm funny, that I'm smart...where I could almost believe her if not for the fool I am so often around her.

Even from the other side of the room I am enchanted by her perfume. In an instant I am transported to a field of French lavender. I trace its source and finally I approach her. Surely I must have floated. She slots one from my hand and looks down at the frosty bottle.

"Oh, the good stuff!" she remarks with a grin.

She looks back up to me, and I become aware of myself not just looking at her, but almost studying her. I drop my gaze, hoping she hasn't noticed.

"It's from the private collection of Raph." I pause before adding, "We should drink it fast."

She chuckles and I feel rewarded by it. Heck, just being in her presence makes me feel rewarded. Sometimes I think I should feel pathetic, but she never seems to evoke that in me. That, like me, she genuinely enjoys the company.

"In that case," she begins, as she traces a line in the condensation, "what shall we drink to?"

"Um… How about we drink to the Kraang?"

Her eyes go wide and she looks at me as though I've just sprouted a second head. "To the Kraang…? Why in the world would you, me, or anyone else want to drink to those slimy brain-squids?"

"I know it sounds… weird… Crazy, even… And I know they've caused us a lot of grief. But without them… well, we might not have met." I clear my throat and, to calm my nerves, grin. "And I can't imagine what life would be like without you…"

She stares blankly at me and worry eels through me. What did I just do? I meant what I said, of course, but that doesn't make it any less forward of me or awkward for her. After all, what if she doesn't feel the same? Ugh. It's official. I'm hopeless. I bite the inside of my cheek as my entire world teeters precariously, waiting on her word.

The next I know though, her arms are wrapped around me and her lips are pressed to mine.

I'm often accused by my family of being a nerd, an egg-head—a _genius_, even. But how much I don't know could fill the Grand Canyon. I didn't know, for example, just how absolutely incredible a kiss could be. Or how our eyes would drift shut unprompted. Or how my heart would catch and stumble, a hostage to pure joy. All I know is that I want her. I want her with every fiber of my being.

With a soft sigh she pulls away, and I am left in a state of perpetual bliss.

"To the Kraang," She whispers as she reaches down and cradles my fingers, "who strangely made it all worthwhile."

I try to answer. I honestly do try to form the words, but nothing leaves. How could it? I don't want to let go of a single thing. Somehow, I regain the ability to talk:

"April...?"

"Yes, Donnie?"

"Can I...?"

"Yes, Donnie."

And this time I lean forward and claim her mouth to mine.

An airy moan escapes her; my body catches fire, swept away by longing. I want to kiss every inch of her, to explore the divine mysteries of her body, to hold her in my arms and listen to the thrumming of her heart. Mostly though, I want to make her happy; to shield her from sorrow and protect her from harm.

She peels her lips away and brushes my cheek with her fingertips. "Donnie, how long have you…?"

"Since the night we met."

She giggles. "Even when I screamed and tried to get away?"

I lean my forehead into hers. All I can see are her eyes, as blue as the ocean and doubly deep. And for an instant, I'm drowning. "Well, I dropped you… So, we'll call it even."

She throws her opposite arm—still clutching her beer—around my shoulders and presses her body against mine. "Deal…"

As we gravitate closer her expression changes.

"Wait!" she looks at the bottle in her hand, "It's bad luck not to drink to a toast."

I blink in implicit understanding.

"You're right," I say, "We should..."

I complete my train of thought by lifting my drink and together we take a miniscule swig of the crisp brew before setting the bottles down on the coffee table. The glass bases clink against the wood. Her attention shifts back to me.

"That's better." she says with a grin, both arms now snaking around my neck.

"Much better." I agree.

I cannot describe the rush of contentment and love I feel as we cling to each other, like we've always belonged together. With a soft chuckle she closes the distance between us. I savor everything she does to me and burn every moment into my hazy mind. Eventually I shift from her lips to the corner of her mouth, dropping soft quick kisses there. I want to do so many things...touch her, kiss her, feel her beneath me. But my unyielding curiosity kicks in first:

"April... how...how long...for me?"

It wasn't exactly graceful, but she knows exactly what I mean.

Her eyes dance across my face, and I feel her fingertips stroke my skin, "Maybe I've always known, too, but just didn't do such a great job of acknowledging it. You're so wonderful, Donnie. I hope you know that. You make me feel like every trial has been for a reason. And you've cared for me even when I didn't make it easy. I trust you more than I could ever explain. You make me smile. And think. And laugh. And just..." She pauses and takes a deep breath, "and just so very glad we met."

I exhale a quivering sigh:

"Oh." is all I can manage.

I still cannot believe this is happening... I'm waiting for Mikey to jump out from behind the sofa and proclaim it all a joke. I'm waiting for the rug to be pulled out from under me. I'm waiting way too long to answer the stunning revelation she has bestowed upon me.

Then: "You should definitely acknowledge it."

She bites her lip and nods and draws herself back in. I am swarmed with love beneath her kiss. It transfers with her taste, her sweetness, her warmth. And as I fumble with every new sensation and movement, she guides me.

"You're a good kisser," she murmurs against my cheek. Amidst the rush of endorphins, my heart is almost beating too hard to hear her.

"You make it easy..." I breathe back.

"A-_hem_."

We flinch in shock at the voice that could only belong to one brother.

I crane my neck to see Raph in the kitchen leaning against the table, his lips curled in a self-satisfied smirk.

"Well, well, well," He crows. "Look wha' we have here…"

Under his gaze, my cheeks burn. My eyes drag over to April, who sits silent and unmoving, her expression blank. I know I should say something—a retort to wound or an acknowledgement of our actions to wrest the situation from his clutches—but nothing coherent comes to mind. It takes everything I have to maintain eye contact; to silently plead with him to show mercy.

"Y'know, it's a helluva thing. Whoda thought I'd come in here for a beer and find somethin' even better?!"

His low, rumbling laugh fills the space between us and sets me on edge. A cavalcade of emotions tangle in my guts and the urge to wipe the smug expression off of his face overwhelms. I scramble to my feet but before I make it around the arm of the couch, April grabs my wrist and turns to face him.

"Dammit, Raph." She says quietly, but I can detect a note of fury in her tone, "Do you mind?"

Her fingers weave through mine and I feel tempered by her touch. We have been caught out, no two ways about it. I can only imagine the kind of stress this roller coaster of emotions is causing our endocrine systems. I want to both shout out in anger and cry out in joy. Instead I wait. Raphael's gaze flickers down to where her hand sits nestled in mine, and then and back up to my eyes.

"Mind? Maybe yer askin' the wrong person?"

If ever there was an accusation in a question, that was it.

"Leave Casey out of this."

At his name, my stomach forms a tight knot. Casey and April were an item years ago, but the malingering remnants have always hovered around. I guess it was one of the pitfalls of being a close-knit group.

"We were kind of having a moment here." I add between gritted teeth.

"An' helpin' yerself to m' beer-"

"Take them!" I yelp, "Just take them!"

I can hear April exhale proudly. She always tells me she's impressed with my zero bullshit tolerance for Raphael's erratic moods. In truth I just want him to disappear, I just want to pick up where we left off before being so unceremoniously interrupted. My body still sings from it.

"Tell ya what," He says, the humor in his voice rapidly dissipating, "this round's on me."

Muttering under his breath, he turns to leave. Every step he takes toward the livingroom is liberating. The anxiety and tension coiled within me slackens and I feel as though I can breathe again. Just as he gets to the doorway, though, he stops in his tracks and whips back around.

"You two really deserve each other, y'know that?"

April and I exchange quizzical glances, unsure of his meaning. He, on the other hand, saunters toward us, propelled by an aura of superiority.

"I mean, have either of ya given any thought t' how this is gonna shake things up?"

"Raph, calm down." April says evenly. "You're blowing this way out of proportion. Nothing bad has happened. Quite the opposite, really." She clasps her hand more tightly around mine and smiles at me. "And besides, Casey and I… well, we've been through for a while now. He's gone his way and I've gone mine. And I don't owe him an explanation for the things I do just as I don't owe you an explanation, either."

He huffs and narrows his eyes on her. "What if I told ya that he's wanted t' get back with ya fer a while now? What if I told ya he still cares aboutcha?"

"He has a funny way of showing it, doesn't he? Look—and believe me when I say this—no one wanted things to work out more than I did. I kept hoping he'd get his act together and start taking our relationship more seriously, but he didn't. And I didn't want to waste my life waiting for him to grow up."

"Great." He spits. "Just fuckin' great. He's gonna blow his lid and take off when he finds outta 'bout this." His gaze settles on me. "Hope yer fuckin' happy."

I look to April and smile. It would have been easy for her to cave under the pressure, but she held firm. She stood her ground and defended herself—and by extension, me—valiantly. I don't think I could love her more than I do at this moment.

"I am…"

Her eyes light up, and I have never been so sure of anything before.

"And so am I." April says, leveling with Raphael, "And why isn't that enough?"

Her words snag on the both of us.

There is a flicker of—_something_—registering on Raphael's face. I don't know why it's suddenly so important that he accepts this mind-shattering turn of events, but it is. Maybe it's because he's my brother. Maybe it's because he's the first one to know, and his reaction something I will gauge the remainder of my family's from. But then I realize that even if he hates me, even if he despises every decision I make henceforth, he can't take away what April has given me or what we mean to each other. I feel her hand, warm in mine, and I feel...untouchable.

He gives a soft snort, the edges of his mouth creeping upwards. Whether it's a typical Raph 'fuck that', or a typical Raph 'what-fuckin'-ever', for once, I can't be certain. But he says nothing else.

I grip her tighter as he leaves, red tails whipping behind him, then swing my head back to face her. Only we remain in the dimly lit living room. The TV is flickering a dated nature documentary. David Attenborough's delightful and inquisitive cadence frames the silence, and suddenly I feel out of my body, watching us from afar. I snap back into myself.

"Are you okay?" I ask softly.

April shakes her head in disbelief, "He's a real short-fused rocket, isn't he?"

"My brother has been known to have a bit of an explosive personality. That's why I've loaded the lair with five types of fire extinguishers."

Her forehead drops to my shoulder as she chuckles into my body, "You're not even joking, are you?"

"No. Not really." I answer with a duplicitous grin.

She laughs harder. Finally she lifts her head.

"Walk me back?"

There is something secretive in her eyes at the offer. I've known her long enough now to know that much. All the tells of April O'Neil. And for reasons beyond pure scientific inquiry, I want to find out.

I nod.

"I'd love that."

...


	2. Preliminary Experimentation

**Chapter 2: Preliminary Experimentation**

She stands and with a gentle squeeze of her hand, signals for me to follow. I take a deep breath and hold it, hoping my nerves will settle. Between obscured truths made clear and the dust-up with Raph, I'm wound tightly. I'm so filled with hope, love, and fear that I feel I might implode. The last thing I want is to be found out by Leo or Mikey. An interrogation—particularly one disguised as genuine concern—just might break me. Fortunately, we make it through the Lair and to the tunnels without drawing attention to ourselves.

I've walked her home countless times, but never hand-in-hand. The moonlight pours down on us through the grates above and casts us in a milky glow; the light plays off the water and shimmers, oddly pure and out-of-place below the surface. I look to her from the corner of my eye and see her glancing about—at the water, upward, straight ahead—her expression muted and unreadable.

"I-is everything alright?"

"Never better!" She trills almost too enthusiastically. "Really!"

I stop in my tracks. "Please don't lie to me, April… Please… If there's something wrong, I need to know…"

She sighs heavily and shakes her head. "Look, it's nothing… I'll be fine!"

I replay the night in my mind, trying to single out a specific moment when everything went awry. Unfortunately, since tonight has been extraordinary, many things stand out. I stammer and stumble until—happily—she breaks the silence.

"Ok, alright… You've got me... I guess… I guess I was hoping that when your brothers found out… well, I was hoping they'd be happy, or that they'd at least understand… Trust me, Donnie, it doesn't change how I feel about you, not in the slightest… It just… it stings a little, I guess…"

"I'm sorry about Raph, he can be very..." I take a moment trying to find the correct descriptor, finally settling on Mikey's favorite: "_Raph_."

She makes a soft noise at the light-hearted joke.

"It's just...it wasn't exactly the reaction I was expecting." She pauses to sigh, "I guess I don't know what I was expecting."

I see her glance at the acidic beams of light slicing through from the surface, crossing her body in series of broken stripes. She's angelic in its light. Above us we hear the muffled clopping of occasional footsteps, and the ever-present murmur of traffic. But it may as well be a million miles away.

"I can't imagine how it must feel to be forced into hiding." I don't know exactly what she means by this. She seems wistful and full of regret. "Even from your own brother."

"Believe it or not, I think you really got through to him." I recollect my nerves and swallow the lump in my throat at what I'm about to say next, "And you don't have to worry about the others reacting like that—not at all—because...th-they already know."

The admission mystifies her a moment.

"Huh?"

Dammit, why was this so hard? I train my sight onto the ground at the cool water pooling at our feet.

"Not about what happened tonight. No. I mean, they already know..." I say at last, "How I, uh...how I feel about you."

I look back up into her eyes and see her tilting her head up and down in comprehension.

"Oh." The word leaves as softly as a shadow, "This whole time? Since we met? And when... when I was with Casey?"

I only give the slightest tip of my head, my mouth a tight line. My brothers, who have known me since before we could even talk, saw it on me the moment I laid eyes on her. Beneath all the gentle and not-so-gentle ribbing I have copped through the years, I suspect they have always regarded the situation as utterly hopeless. As had I. Until tonight. Heck, until only an hour ago. But I can see that something I've said has upset her. Tears well in her eyes, shimmering beneath her cage of light. My gut twists with guilt and alarm and instinctively I try to backpedal.

"April...I...I didn't mean to…"

The rise of her hand silences me.

"No wonder he..." She trails off and stops to wipe at her eyes, continuing with a toss of her head, "How do you not hate me, too?"

"He doesn't hate you, April. And I...I could never hate you. Never."

A laugh caught half way between a sob escapes her. With our eyes locked on one another, she steps closer. I feel her slender fingers slip up my cheek.

"I could never hate you, either, Donnie." she whispers.

Without warning, I feel the soft brush of her lips on mine. My body surges with pure white elation. She pulls away a fraction, her eyes still closed, to tell me:

"I hope you're coming up for coffee."

There is only one reply to this, and somehow it stumbles out of me:

"I...I'd love to."

As I climb the ladder to the surface, my mind is a vacuum. I can't think straight. No matter how I try, I can't figure out how I've gotten myself into such a nerve-wracking yet thoroughly exhilarating predicament. All I did differently tonight was tell the truth. Normally, whenever I'd slip up around her, I'd reach to the nearest plausible excuse. I'd warp my declarations of affection into odd non-sequiturs and attribute any awkward fumbling to clumsiness. But for some reason—and even I'm not sure why—I decided to break the cycle of dishonesty.

Life, after all, is an exercise in calculated risk. Every day, every action, and every choice we make carries with it tangible and unique consequences. And life's defining moments are often mired in uncertainty—innocuous at a glance but monumental in scope and impact. It makes me wonder: What have I risked tonight? What have I jeopardized with my candor? April is my best friend. I love her more than she'll ever know. What if I ruin everything? What if, by allowing my feelings for her to override my better judgment, I drive her away? What if, by hoping to wrap myself in the warmth of her love, I've condemned myself to the cold?

I pry the manhole cover open and slide it to the side. With a cautionary glance, I hoist myself to the street above. She's not far behind. As she reaches the top of the ladder, I offer her my hand and help her to her feet. Her hands linger on mine and my heart clatters against my ribs. Though we are topside, I feel like the world is closing in on me. Everything we've said seems realer now and because so much is at stake, I'm terrified.

"What a nice night." she says, eyes skyward. "I don't think I could ask for more."

My gut, seemingly filled with quicksilver, rises and drops. Before I even realize it, my nerves take control and will me to speak: "Uh… April… are you… are you sure you want me to come up?"

"Of course! I asked, didn't I?"

"You did… but, uh, did you… did you think it through…?" As soon as the words leave my lips I begin backpedalling. "I… I'm sorry, I didn't mean…"

She tightens her hold on my hand. "Donnie… what is this about?"

"It's just…" I sigh heavily. "I don't want to lose you, April. Ever. When you're around, life is just… so much better. It's like the walls fade away and my drab little world is filled with color and light. I can't stand the thought of losing that. So, if you're at all unsure… please… you have to let me know…"

To my dismay, the look on her face falters.

"I, uh..."

I can tell she is breathless under the weight of my concerns. My insides clench as I realize that I have proven to myself what I have long suspected: that fear is a communicable disease. Forget the Kraang, forget The Shredder—I've always been my own worst enemy.

She glances around at the people in the distance streaming by in the darkness. It's funny how my habits have become hers.

"Maybe we can talk more inside?"

Talk?

"That would be a...a good idea." I stammer uneasily.

She gives a brisk nod of her head and takes off, shoulders braced against the wind. Being human, April makes way for the front entrance. I, on the other hand, head to the building's outer wall to clamber up the fire ladders to get her window ledge. Our division of paths only seems to reinforce my reservations. I'm there long before her, and sit frowning in the cool March air, bemusing my spectacular blunder. What was I _thinking_? To think that she kissed me, that the lovely April O'Neil kissed _me_...and I go and vocally doubt that what she is feeling is sincere... I shudder at what she must think of me now. I groan into my hands, defeated by my own reservations. I am truly an embarrassment to my species: if Mikey had witnessed my moment of self-sabotage, he would still be slapping his knee in a cacophony of guffaws. Lost in thought, I am surprised by the squeal of wood on wood from the window frame being pried open.

"I should look at that." I say lamely, as if it could undo my earlier misgivings.

"Sure."

I step inside, landing noiselessly on her hardwood floor, but she doesn't look me in the eye. Instead she makes way to the kitchen and switches on the burner for the kettle. After what seems like hours of her clanging spoons against porcelain, she arrives with our steaming beverages.

"There. Coffee. Just like I promised." She says at last.

I set mine on the table without even a polite sip. I don't think my stomach could handle it after what I've done. It feels like we have come full circle, only we have swapped out the Lair for her apartment, our beers for coffee, and our brief moments of heavenly passion for grinding doubt.

"Please, _please_ talk to me, April."

She takes a deep breath. Then another.

"You're right, Donnie. I'm scared. I'd be lying if I said otherwise...my whole life has been about playing it safe. Reaching the milestones you're expected to reach. I spent three years earning my degree in Mathematics, and another three carving a career at different corporations—Stockman Tech, Tessler Kinetic...and my internship at uh,"

"Kaizen Robotics." I offer quietly.

She nods with a nervous chuckle, "Yeah. Kaizen. Of course you remember."

She sips.

"And then I met you. After all we've been through together, all we've done, you are the only person who I feel truly knows me. You have been with me every step of the way. You've seen me at my worst, and lauded me at my best: my graduation, my promotions...my engagement to Casey."

Her fingers scrunch against the sides of her cup and she peers into its molten depths.

"You give to me so unselfishly. You always have. Even now, asking me if I'm ready, if I'm sure..."

"April...I...what I mean is, you have no idea how much I want this...how much I care for you." I croak in despair, "But things may not work out. It's not unrealistic to think that it could happen. My life is not simple...by choosing to be with me, part of you will be forced into hiding, too. I don't know if I can do that to you. For what you may miss, and how much you may regret your choice...and I don't want to lose you if that day comes."

"It's a bit late for that now, right?" she poses lightly.

I prepare for her to smash my heart, just as I prepare myself to not let it show. Finally, she continues:

"You know, it's so funny how time can give you perspective. Things I thought I wanted, silly things that you're conditioned to want...those things didn't fulfill me in the way I expected. And if anything, they only made me more aware of what did. When I'm around you, I feel like I belong somewhere. Why is that, Donnie? Why is that unless...you are the only thing I've ever really been sure of?"

A flood of sweetness overwhelms me.

"So don't you worry about losing me." she says softly, "Just you try, and see how far you get."

Without thinking, I take the cup from her and place it on the table beside my own. A smile breaks over her face.

"I was stupid to ask." I say, "Forgive me."

"You really like over-thinking things, don't you?" she whispers, her hands finding their way back into mine.

"I have been told I have a tendency to do that."

A quiet chuckle, then: "I've always loved that about you."

My eyes latch onto hers. Reflected therein is all that comprises her: her intelligence, wit, compassion, and resolve. I find myself sinking deeper and deeper into their depths, adrift yet secure; happily drowning in something as undying as my love for her.

Before I even realize it, I'm kissing her again. She tightens her grip on my hands and leans in, returning the gesture in kind. Almost instantly, my body responds—blood rushing, pulse racing—and the mere feeling of her so close sends tremors through me. Then she does something that thrills me: she unlaces her fingers from mine and throws her arms around my neck. I stiffen for a moment, torn between desire and uncertainty, until her words echo in my mind:

"_So don't you worry about losing me. Just you try, and see how far you get._"

And so I pull her close and hold her, my heart jackhammering all the while. I've held her before, but never like this; never so openly or honestly. Before, any feelings we harbored for each other were tempered by circumstance: mutual fear, denial, reluctance, and—in my case—a misguided sense of chivalry. With such forces nullified by our admissions to one another, all that remains is our love.

She makes the next move. Leaning forward, she forces me back against the arm of the couch, raises herself up, and crawls into my lap, never breaking our exchange. The soft warmth of her body against mine steals my breath away. Blood flows to and gathers in my tail and loins, urging me forth and eroding my reservations. And so I drop my hands from her back to her rear, pull her close and firmly grasp each tender mound in my hands; in turn, her lips fall away. She moans and throws back her head as her muscles jump and shiver.

"Th-that was…"

"Amazing…" I offer.

She nods in agreement. "I suppose I should have expected you would be good with your hands, but that… that was just… wow…"

I smile. Though she's in my lap and has been kissing, touching, and holding me, something as simple as her compliment makes me blush. "I… I, uh… I live to serve, Miss O'Neil…"

"That's what I like to hear." she purrs, her eyes scintillating. Without hesitation, she reaches down, takes hold of her shirt, and peels it from her body. Only a lacy white bra remains. "You of all people know that I like to take the lead…"

My thoughts evaporate like a shadow in the light. With an almost religious-like reverence, my eyes skim her pale freckle-peppered flesh, charting back to where hair brushes against her neck like licks of fire. She smells of the promise of spring in the wintertime, of everything I could ever dream, and I find myself stunned into silence.

"You're so...so beautiful." I finally manage to say.

I can't tear my eyes from her. Everything that is happening and all that I'm feeling is exhilarating and new, but despite this influx of unfamiliar sensations, my body has come alive, telling me quite clearly what it wants. But I am stilled into submission, and remain still as her hands run curiously down my plastron. I can hear and feel her nails catch on the minute grooves in the keratin, vibrating and scraping, playing me like an instrument. When a finger follows the central crease down my chest, I lose it:

"April...you're going to make me..." I stop myself, trying to concentrate on containing the throbbing below.

Lost in her explorations, it's like she doesn't hear me.

My eyes clench shut as her hands wander further, dipping down into my bridge plates before running up my arms, travelling over knotted scar tissue and veins like landmarks she wants to remember. Her hands are warm and ticklish and foreign and wanted. I breathe in sharply, waiting as she discovers my body. But I want the same. I want to feel her everywhere.

"Your skin," she says, her eyes lighting up in wonder, "It's so smooth and cool."

I nod without speaking. I don't think I can. My eyes rake her body as my hands sit behaving themselves on her jean-covered thighs. But even resting, they buzz from lingering on a part of her that had always been off limits.

Sensing my need for permission, even still, she directs me:

"I want you to touch me, Donnie."

Tremoring slightly, I lift my hand to reach to where she has bidden. My fingertips make contact against the satin fabric of her bra, and suddenly what we are doing has become a hell of a lot more intimate. I watch carefully as I trace lazy circles, my breaths growing deeper and harder. Each mound fits perfectly in my palm, and when I gain the nerve to drag my fingers across their peaks, a broken gasp escapes her. Before I know it, I have slipped the straps from her shoulders. The cups of the bra slacken revealing a hint of blush colored flesh, sending a jolt of tightness to my groin. In turn, something I have done has affected her: I see her skin flush on her chest and neck in a way I've only seen after she has drunk too much or run too hard.

"Is that...alright?" I whisper.

She gives a toss of her head, her voice catching in her throat: "Oh, yeah...very much so."

I smile.

"Good."

I don't know where this brazen attitude of mine has suddenly come from, it's as if my self-censors are off duty, and reacting with unfiltered honesty the only recourse. The desire to kiss her again forces me upwards and I rise to sit with her still on me, taking her into a hold. The position foists my lips within inches of her bosom. The temptation proves too much. I drop my head to deliver soft kisses upon her skin, tasting her, devouring her, my tongue dipping beneath the lace edge and flicking against her coral nipples as I try in vain to unclip her bra. It is difficult task to achieve in this position and with fingers as bulky mine, but she doesn't correct me, doesn't laugh, she just waits until finally, _finally_, it falls free. I am awestruck. I suckle and kiss and revere her, tracing from her neck to mouth. She takes my head into her hands. I look into her eyes, and they glint with desire—or perhaps just my own, mirrored in their depths. It eats me alive.

"_April._.." I moan softly, and as I do, her lips silence me.

Lost in a flurry of kisses, my hands, calloused and firm, travel up the sides of her body, biting into her nipples. She loves it. I have learned that much so far. But when her thighs gently squeeze upon mine, oh, the feeling it ignites in me. I release a staggered breath and her mouth twitches upwards, knowing what she has done:

"Interesting..." she muses.

I attempt to calm myself by recalling complex equations, trying not to frighten her with my unusual body. The thought of that alone is enough to warrant a measure of calm from my nether-regions. Until she squeezes again. This time I panic:

"April...I'm not sure...if what I'm doing is 100% right...I mean, I'm not sure if..."

I trail off, unsure of how to end that without sounding like a complete goof. Of course I'd boil sex down to percentages. Typical Donnie move. In truth, I have read and seen things that should more than make me up to scratch in that department (in Raph's blunt opinion, anyway), but instinctually I know it's a little different than the carnal mechanics of pornography. I want her to feel _loved_. I want that more than I want it for myself.

"It's okay. We have all night." She stoops to kiss me, her soft breasts pressing against me. Any hope of restraining myself is now long gone. "But you should know, you are off to a very good start."

Each exchange leaves me breathless, gasping for air until her lips meet mine again and I'm so filled with lust that I'm almost certain I'll burst. It takes a cumulative toll on my restraint. My tail and loins throb fiercely, pleading with me to give into my baser desires. And as she rolls and grinds her hips into me, our hearts thrumming in unison all the while, I wince and yelp, afraid of what she might think if she discovers me; of how she might react to my peculiar body. Startled, she cuts our kiss short. She looks hurt; concerned she may have gotten to rough or gone too far. She draws a breath to speak, but before she's able, I exploit the moment to turn the tables in my favor. I hook my arms under her legs and stand, hoisting her up. Momentarily frightened, her eyes widen and her fingers wrench down on my shoulders, but when I spin her in the air, she giggles until tears of laughter tremble in her eyes.

I've seen beauty and, because I've spent the majority of my life underground, I appreciate it more than most. I've seen the soft reds, oranges, and golds of the sunrise and watched the silver-specked waves lap at the shore in the night. But those things, lovely though they may be, cannot compare to the way she looks right now. I tighten my hold on her; she wraps her arms around my neck and lays her head on my shoulder. We sway to-and-fro to the phantom rhythm of an inaudible melody, our bodies tangled together unnaturally. And yet, with her in my arms, it all feels right.

I lay her on the couch and kiss her neck, suckling gently as I do. She sighs contentedly and tilts her head back to grant me unfettered access. Her breathing deepens and her hands find their way to my sides, trailing softly along, groping at every ridge and crevice.

"Please Donnie…" she coos. "Don't s-stop…"

Strategically placed kisses lead me to her collarbone and then to her breasts. I cup them in my palms and run my thumbs over her nipples, which are as delicate in color and constitution as rosebuds. She silently implores me, through whimpers and wavering breaths, to keep going. I take a nipple in my mouth and graze it ever so slightly with my teeth. Just as her breath catches in her throat, I swipe across it with my tongue, pull away, and I blow cool air upon it. Her features tighten for a moment and she trembles, surrendering herself to my touch.

It is only when my hand snags at the waistband of her jeans do I pause. I tilt my head back up to catch her eye, the both of us breathing hard and heavy. For a moment we say nothing. We know what is happening, but neither of us knows exactly how to broach the next step. Her eyes flicker downwards then back up to mine. She nods, a smile creeping on her lips as her breathing levels out.

"Are you sure?" I ask.

"Are you?"

That shuts me up. We've had this conversation already, and I'm painfully aware of it, but this part seems a little out of its context. Perhaps I can make light of it? I decide to risk it.

"Just you try," I say teasingly, "And see how far you get."

She gives a raspy chuckle and slaps my arm.

"If you can remove my jeans without falling off the couch, Donnie, you'll get very far in this world, indeed."

"Uh-"

My ineloquent retort is cut short by April's hefty shove to try and tip me onto the floor. Sensing this shift in balance, I hold onto both her and the backrest tightly and don't budge an inch. Her brows skyrocket.

"I forget how strong you are sometimes," she says in hushed voice, "And how gentle."

I don't buy her innocent act one moment. I know her more than she thinks. April is my best friend, after all.

"Were you just trying to kick me off the seat, Miss O'Neil?"

She laughs, and it fills the room with its music.

"Merely trying to help. With the pants."

The directness throws me off guard. That's one for her. I feel the oncoming of a savage blush.

"Oh. Ah...well, then. Don't let me stop you."

I slide off and sit alongside her. One arm wraps beneath her head, cradling her close to me. Unable to help ourselves, our mouths move closer until we touch. She stifles a giggle as her cold nose presses awkwardly against my face, which she amends with a minor slant of her neck. I can feel her fumble with her fly, followed by the sound of the short clicks of the zip along its track. My heart pummels like a drum.

"I want you to look at me." she says into my ear.

I turn my head. Knowing that she has my full attention, she brings her knees upwards and slides the denim down her thighs, down her shins, before slipping them over her feet. They fall with a plop to the floor. All that remains on her now is a satin pair of underwear that ride high and cut into her skin with a delicate lace.

"April, you're...oh my god..." I breathe in a shaky voice.

She is a vision unmatched my many, many fantasies. It sets my blood on fire. I go to touch her. I need to.

"Hold up." she tells me. I jerk my hand back but she captures it in reassurance. "The bedroom."

…


	3. Alchemy and Anatomy

**Chapter 3: Alchemy and Anatomy**

She slides her hand into mine, brings it to her lips, and lightly kisses my fingers. It may be a small gesture, but it's enough to make me smile. The sight of our hands intertwined amuses me, as it is a comical juxtaposition of just how different we are: mine is thick, bulky, calloused, and scarred; hers is petite and slender and her skin is as smooth as porcelain. And while our differences are almost exclusively physical, I can't help but wonder what it might mean for the future. Though she tells me that she loves me and wants to be with me—that I am the one thing she's ever been sure of—the sacrifices she would have to make to do so are undeniable. In my heart, I can't help but wonder if she'd be willing to give up so much—to forsake the comforts and pleasures of her life for the scarcity and secrecy of mine. And I wonder if it's selfish of me to even entertain the thought.

We get up and she leads me through the kitchen and down the adjoining hallway. Uncertainty—or maybe it's ambivalence—clamps down on me with every step. I want nothing more than to share this experience with her; to feel the everlasting pleasure of such a passionate exchange. But at the same time, a voice in the deepest recess of my mind cries out and entreats me to reconsider. So, I remind myself that I am safe. And that, if she was truly unsure, I'd probably be down in the Lair taking a cold shower and listening to Bonnie Raitt's "I Can't Make You Love Me" on repeat. But instead, I'm here. With her. Mere feet from her bedroom. I take a calming breath—inhale for five seconds, hold for five seconds, exhale for five seconds—and cast my reservations aside. With a playful twirl, she faces me:

"Are you sure you're okay, Donnie?"

"M-me..?" As soon as the word topples off my tongue, I cringe. Who else would she mean? Donnie Wahlberg? "Uh… Y-yeah. I'm great. N-never better…"

She squeezes my hand and nuzzles it with her cheek. "I want you to listen to me carefully." There's an unmistakable tone of finality in her voice. "I know you're nervous… I know you're probably running every possible worst-case scenario through your head as we speak, but… I don't want you to worry. I want you to remember tonight for the rest of your life and for all the right reasons… So please… Please just relax, okay? I won't let anything bad happen to you. I promise…"

Promises are only as worthy as their providers. But a promise from her, in earnest, is worth its weight in gold. "I… I'll try to r-relax…"

With a smirk blooming across her face, she pulls me into a kiss; in fact, she pulls me in so hard that the back of her head bangs against the doorframe. She winces; I pull away.

"Oh Gosh! April, are you all right?"

She pinches the bridge of her nose and her cheeks burn red. To my relief, she erupts in laughter.

"That wasn't nearly as sexy as I thought it'd be…" she says, wiping a tear from her eye.

I can't help but smile. "Are you sure you're okay?"

She nods and opens the door to her room. And with a wink, she purrs: "I will be soon…"

Loosely clasping my hand, she leads me in. I have rarely been in here but remember it well. Even shrouded in darkness I know her room is muted shades of cinnamon and cream, comforting and feminine. It smells like her everywhere. The light creeping in from the hall kicks off a small metal bowl I machined for her on her birthday, inside is which she keeps her finest trinkets. I pause, feeling a small surge of pride that I'm part of her private refuge. She sees my eyes lingering there and smiles.

"It's beautiful. I love how it catches the light." Her focus shifts, "It's funny, when I think about it—you're hidden everywhere around me. I even have a photo of us at the farmhouse behind that painting…"

She points to a frame that I can't quite make the picture out of in the dark.

"That's...sensible." I say with a slight warble, unsure if I'm sad or happy that I'm a secret.

She doesn't turn on the light. Instead she leans over her dresser, still mostly naked, and strikes a match, cupping it with one hand and setting it to a tea light candle. The emerging flame dances across her skin like my thoughts. I try not to be so crass as to devour her body with my eyes—her breasts, her behind, god help me—so I sit on the edge of her bed, insanely aroused, and at a loss at what to do with myself. Wherever my confidence was earlier seemed to evaporate the second I stepped foot in here. She can see it on me, my fear, and strives to comfort me.

"I just wanted it to be..."

I nod before she can finish. I know what she means. I want it to be as special as she does. I always want it to be special with us.

Without a further word, she comes beside me, softly exhaling and following it with a tender kiss. My pulse races at her return. She pulls away only to rest her hands in mine. For a moment we sit silent, cherishing each other as candlelight licks our skin. Love. I know it without reason. It is incomparable, strong and beautiful, and it courses through my body singed with lust. I want to tell her what I feel for her. Perhaps she sees it all over me?

Color burns her cheeks. She drops her chin with a soft giggle and casts her gaze back up at me, glimmering and impish.

"Maybe we should match?" she tells me.

I'm unsure of her meaning until I feel her pick at the wraps binding my wrists. I wait as she unwinds it, then the other. She rubs my freshly exposed skin, but she is not done. She looks upwards.

"Your mask…"

"Let me."

I reach back and undo the knot before removing the strip of fabric, bunching it in my hand as she touches my face with slender fingers. For so long my nominal amount of gear has constituted my entire outfit and I feel strangely naked without it.

"You're so incredibly attractive." she murmurs as her eyes skim my face, "Do you know that?"

I shake my head. I have never thought of myself like that before. Quite the opposite. Fit, perhaps. Studious, definitely. But attractive? I'm hardly a prototype for the human specimen. She on the other hand—I have to swallow hard—her body does witchcraft on me, her mind bends my will, her voice commands me:

"_Kiss me, Donnie..."_

We fall back into each other, entangling and embracing. My hands begin to drift across the planes of her body as she presses her softness against me. I kiss her everywhere I can reach—her neck, her shoulders, her breasts—my tongue flickering across her like the candlelight. I hear her softly moaning in pleasure, calling my name, setting every part of me on fire. In retribution she begins to drag her fingernails across my thighs, encouraging my own explorations. But her nails are doing things to me. I grimace, caught between the pleasure of her touch and the stress of restraint.

"I'm...ah, my body is different, April." I say breathlessly and so fast it's as if I've formed one long word. _Mybodyisdifferent_. As if she couldn't see me at all.

She breaks away from the corner of my jaw with a nod.

"I know."

"I mean…" I indicate with a tilt of my head downwards.

"I know."

This answer surprises me.

"Ah, h-how do you..."'

April presses her lips together and I can see that she is considering telling me something. Her shoulders relax at her decision.

"Remember when Raph cracked his lower plastron last October down at the East tunnels? After half a bottle of Jameson?"

I tell her I do.

"Well, Mikey filled me in with graphic detail on how painful it was going to be for Raph to… um... accomplish certain nocturnal activities. By the way, did you know that Mikey is an exceptional artist?"

"Ah...oh. Yes. That he is." I gulp. Hard. "Um...where was I when this was going on, exactly?"

She gives a soft chuckle: "He waited until you were out of ear-shot, the little sneak. He probably knew you'd try and stop him."

The sting of embarrassment slithers across my cheeks, "Kill him might have been another viable option."

"I may have encouraged him just a little" she adds with a twinkle in her eye, "And I'm glad you didn't. I care for you, Donnie. Not for what's different or for what's the same. For _you_. Understand?"

I swallow at the lump in my throat.

"You say that now, but...ah...I-I don't want you to be..."

_Horrified_. I can't bring myself to say it.

She shakes her head, drawing herself closer and into a warm kiss. Lost in the haze of love, I'm vaguely aware of her hand creeping across my hypoplastron and down into the crevices of the bridge.

"You have it all wrong." she whispers, "I want you to trust me."

As I gaze upon the truth in her eyes, I feel myself surrendering all the stops that sit twisted in my stomach like barbed wire.

"You're too good to me, April."

A grin tugs at her mouth: "Not for long."

That I can take. I tighten my arms up to drag her closer, and she bears down with vigor, all her curves against me. But, the force has my shell slipping across the satin finish of her comforter. I only have time to keep her above me, ensuring she is not crushed beneath 180 pounds of flesh and shell, as we crash to the floor. We hit hard, the peak of my carapace giving an audible crack against the beams of wood.

"_Ow_."

It comes out as flat and winded as I am.

"Donnie!" she cries out, "Are you okay?"

Her eyes are wide, their coquettish glimmer stolen away by concern. She surveys my body, looking for any visible injuries, and moves from atop me to the floor by my side. All the while, I struggle for breath, choking and wheezing as though I'd just finished running a marathon.

"I'm…okay…" I reassure her. "I just… need to…catch…my breath…"

As I lie on the floor, watching the orange glow of the tea-candle swell and sway on the ceiling, I wish earnestly—and not for the first time—that life had and 'undo' button. Maybe I should get to work on that. Not only would it have innumerable real world applications, but it would prevent me from fouling up in private as well. Burying my face in my hands, I recall an article I read about alchemists in the 16th century; about their struggle to perfect a process that would change pig-iron into gold. At present, I can't help seeing myself as an alchemist of a different sort—one who transforms passionate moments into cringe-worthy memories. Honestly, it's an idiosyncrasy I could do without.

"Are you sure?" she asks sweetly.

"Y-yeah…" I pull myself up into a seated position and lean against the bed. "I'd been meaning to measure your comforter's coefficient of static friction. Great news! It passed with flying colors…"

She shimmies over to me, kisses me from my neck to my jaw to my cheek, and whispers in my ear: "Good. We wouldn't want you to have a cracked lower plastron, now would we? That would definitely spoil the evening…"

My words form a bottleneck in my throat and all I can manage is a strange, garbled noise; a wavering chuckle with a dash of nigh-intelligible words thrown in for flair. She gets to her feet and strips the linens from her bed, dropping them to the floor in a heap. On all fours, she traverses the pillow-top—her arm and back muscles clenching and releasing, catching my eye—as she makes her way to me.

"How about we try that again, hmm?" She gestures for me to sit on the edge of the bed, and so I do. "Now relax… Take a deep breath and just enjoy it…"

Her fingers begin kneading my shoulders, working in small circles, diligently attacking the knots and gnarls. It feels incredible. Her touch is purposeful yet restrained; effective yet gentle—a stark contrast from anything I've experienced before. That's not to say that I've never had a massage. Far from it, actually. After all, bruises and soreness go hand-in-hand with training and massage is one of the best ways to recuperate. But, when one has to rely on one's brothers to treat those hard-to-reach areas, it ends up being a lesson in masochism more than anything else. If I had a dollar for every time Raph gave me bruises on my bruises—and then slathered on Icy Hot for good measure—I'd be rich.

"Feel better?" she asks.

"Mmm… Yes… Much…"

She slides her arms under mine, embracing me from behind, and kisses my neck. The softness of her breasts against my carapace, the warmth of her breath skimming across my skin, the unpredictability of her roving hands as she traces the grooves in my plastron… it's almost too much for me to bear. The tightness in my loins, diminished briefly by our crash-landing, returns tenfold. And while I'm beyond nervous, she's pressed against me so tightly that I can feel her heartbeat and it's steady and true. And I realize that she's sure. That she isn't second-guessing herself. And I know that she, like she always does, will help me become more than I could hope to be on my own.

"Lie back…"

I sink back into the mattress; she sidles up beside me and snatches up my hand.

"I want you to feel me, Donnie. I want you to feel just how badly I want you…"

Before her meaning even registers, she guides my hand between her legs. It sends a jolt through me. The sheer fabric of her panties is soaked through and the heat—oh God, the heat. To be consumed by her fire—corrupted and purified all at once—was little more than a pipe-dream. Until now. She moves my hand to her pleasure, whimpering as she does.

The sounds she makes break me. I close my eyes tightly. With a grunt and a groan, my manhood springs forth…

I take an unsteady breath in the ensuing quiet.

The time between beats seems to spread out infinitely. I don't think I've ever been more vulnerable than right now as I wait for her reaction to my complete form. My size is not diminutive, that I know, something I have attributed to my _chelonian_ heritage. And then there is the matter of my naught-seen tail, normally tucked in close against my body. I lay still, almost bracing myself for the inevitable cry of shock. But then I feel her fingertips on me, gently tracing my length, before running down the underside of my 'extraneous' appendage. It is almost defies belief how much her feather-light touch has me pinned helpless. I clamp down, trying to clear my head, thinking of anything that could contain the intense thrill she is giving me—alchemy, giraffes, that photo she keeps hidden—but all I can think of is her.

"Your tail?" she asks softly.

I make an affirmative sound half-way between a grunt and a sigh, unable to form comprehensible thoughts. She takes a moment, and I know she is intrigued—not frightened, not disgusted—_intrigued_. Her voice drops to a whisper.

"You're beautiful, Donnie."

Relief and joy spill through me in waves. It is a feeling like no other, to know that she accepts me, to know that my trust remains intact. How could I even begin to explain to her how much she has done? It makes me feel more loved and wanted than I could ever imagine. But April, true to her nature, has not finished. We are birds of a feather in that way, inquisitive minds never at rest.

"Does this feel okay?" She asks as her hand strums against the most intimate of areas.

I am able to creak my neck up and down in reply. Just. What she is doing feels more than okay. What she is doing should be listed at the FDA for being the most potent drug on the planet. April smiles, knowing she has me completely.

"Just relax, Donnie. I want you to enjoy this."

At that she stretches out beside me, beginning at my mouth with soft loving kisses to which I respond keenly—before roaming to my jaw, my neck, over the creases of my plastron. I can feel her everywhere, her body molding against mine as she shifts downwards, her fingers predicating her path. When she arrives at my thighs, I feel her encompass my girth with her warm hand, firm yet gentle. If I can figure out anything, it's what is coming next. And as much as I want it, I'm terrified that it's too much, too soon.

"April, y-you don't have to…"

"Shh." she tells me, "I want to."

With a small grin playing at her mouth, she lowers her head down, her pink tongue slipping out and tracing a warm, wet path along my length, before licking slowly and incisively at the throbbing end. My limbs tighten, chest constricting in the utmost pleasure.

"_Uhgh_..."

"_Very_ interesting..." she says slyly.

She looks up again, delivering a clandestine wink, only to disappear amongst the tangle of her curls as she drops towards her charge. But then I feel her mouth on me, her flattened tongue lapping at the underside of my head as one hand begins to glide up and down my shaft with the most perfect pressure. My arms fling out, gripping the sides of the bed at the pooling of utter bliss in my loins. Involuntarily captured, I cannot help but cry her name:

"_April...oh...ghhh_..."

Her rhythm sets me adrift in euphoria like a zeppelin in a clear sky. At each turn she pushes down, taking more of me in, tasting me, teasing me, before resurfacing. I believe it becomes almost a challenge for her to see how deep she goes, and part of me is genuinely concerned if she is physically capable of handling my size. She holds firm on my leg, abating my concerns, and then eviscerating them when she murmurs in delight against my rigid flesh, the vibrations lancing all before it with bright pleasure.

Amidst everything, I know this: I want to see her. Trembling, I reach for her head, lacing my fingers through her fiery hair and pushing it aside from her face. With a slight twist, she watches me watching her. An upward flick of her eyebrow tells me she has more in store. Her free hand leaves my hip only to begin caressing her full breasts, grazing her left nipple, before splaying her fingers to run across to the other. The sight turns me on more than I've ever been in my short life. But she doesn't stop there. I begin to feel her fingertips stroking my tail, before pressing lightly into the most tender part at its base. I yelp as the most luscious pang infuses me. Mere seconds more of this and I'm afraid the night will be cut short.

But then something at the back of my mind speaks up—ironically, one of Raphael's pearls of wisdom inherited from who knows where. I can almost hear him snarling it, "_Any man worth his salt is gonna let the lady finish first_." Then another alarming thought hits me: what if that was something he picked up from _Casey_? In reference to _April_? Chalk it up to my competitive nature, my complete adoration of her, heck, even the stars in the sky—but I'll be damned if I can't make her the most fulfilled she's ever been...and immediately I go about setting things right.

I shift my torso back to break away from her. With a pop, her mouth leaves me.

"Donnie?" she asks, sucking at her glistening lower lip.

Panting and woozy, I hoist her up so that she sits straddling my waist.

"I...I need you here." I tell her, combing her hair from her puzzled face, the flickering candlelight capturing the diamonds of sweat brimming her forehead.

"I need you." I say again. It is the truest thing I've ever told her.

I tilt her chin towards me, trying to even my ragged breaths, before crushing my mouth against hers. I can taste myself all over her. But our tastes and scents have intermingled, forming something precious and new. April and I. Never in a million lifetimes did I think this would happen: daydreams are one thing...but now I have awoken in one. Our kisses, at first light and welcoming, deepen into something more sensual. Her tongue brushes against mine, fueling the fire nestled dangerously close to my erect self.

"You have me so hot, Donnie." She breathes, "Why did you stop me?"

I reach to cup between her legs, barred only by the flimsiest of fabric, stroking where her warm promise lies. Her breath catches at my bold move, stoking the embers in her eyes.

"We should match." I tell her softly, "Remember?"

She regards this sentiment before a smile graces her: "Absolutely."

As I kiss her again, I run my hands down her waist, slipping down convex and concave turns before hooking my fingers into her pants. I drag downwards, peeling them from her body, removing the only thing that remains between us.

Since pulling me back on the bed, everything has happened so quickly that I've barely had time to think. Instead, I've relinquished control—something I'm loath to do—and relied on her actions and reactions for guidance. So it takes me a moment to process the obvious: that a very hot and very naked April O'Neil is straddling me. On top of that (see what I did there?), she has seen me—all of me—and hasn't run from the room screaming like a Tokyoite fleeing Godzilla. As I look upon her in all of her glory, I realize that I must have the dopiest, stupidest-looking grin plastered onto my face…and yet I don't care. For once, fortune or fate or whatever you'd like to call it has smiled upon me and it seems only fitting that I smile back. I run my hands from her thighs to her breasts and back; her skin, beaded with sweat, shimmers, seemingly bejeweled.

"Are you ready, Donnie?"

I wink in reply; confusion flickers in her eyes. Hooking my hands under her legs, I roll her from atop me onto her back. Startled, she gasps, finding herself pinned beneath me, her hair arced around her head like a fiery halo.

"Are you ready, Miss O'Neil?"

She looks deeply into my eyes, searching their depths for doubt or uncertainty. "But tonight is about you. All I want is for you to enjoy yourself…"

I smile and kiss her on the forehead. "Tonight is about us, Miss O'Neil, and I won't be able to enjoy myself unless I know that I've satisfied you…"

"Always such a gentleman…"

Certain parts of her demand to be kissed—to be paid homage: her neck, the slope of her collarbone, the space between her breasts. I move steadily down her body, my anticipation mounting alongside my desires. When I reach her waist, I trail kisses from hip to hip, where I nip playfully and trace the perimeter of the bone with my tongue. She roils and writhes, her breaths coming in sharp intakes and escaping her in mewling whimpers. And when I venture further, to her womanhood, I swallow hard and hope against hope that all I've gleaned from anatomical texts, biological encyclopedias, and occasional late-night visits to websites of ill-repute will coalesce into some form of technique.

I trace her labia with my forefinger, applying barely enough pressure to make contact. To my surprise, it makes her jump and gasp. Feeling encouraged, I decide to go a bit further; to be a little bolder. And so I slowly bury my finger within her. It feels different than I imagined it would, but in all of the best ways: she's practically radiating heat and she's wetter than I ever would have guessed. Instinctively, I work it in and out of her; in turn, she throws her head back, eyes aflutter.

Though the entire evening has been remarkable, this stands head and shoulders above the rest: watching the effects of my touch on her. The slight blush of her skin in certain places; the way the muscles in her core spasm; the movement of her legs, bending and buckling; the pleasure-soaked haze of her expression all gratify me in a manner separate from yet equal to the way she pleasured me. And knowing that I can lift her to such heights is an undeniable thrill, but I want to do more. To be better. For her.

"April, is that..?"

"D-don't st-stop…"

Her reply comes as a frantic plea. I decide, in the moment, to go for it. I flick my tongue along her clitoris and, just as she acclimates to the sensation, suckle on it. She seizes the edges of the mattress as my name springs from the top of her lungs, filling the room (and probably the entire floor of the building.) I can't help but laugh. I've heard my name shouted in rebuke, worry, concern, and dismay but never in arousal. It's a novelty and I like it. Needless to say, I redouble my efforts and, in the process, lose myself. Her scent intoxicates; her taste overwhelms. And I feel a part of something greater than myself; I feel a part of her. It's wholeness. Completion. Like I've regained something that I never knew was missing.

"S-stop… Do-Donnie, st-stop…"

My heart quails. "April, what's wrong? Did I do something..?"

"No," she says with a shake of her head. Strands of hair, slick with sweat, stick to her cheeks and forehead. "Not at all. I want you, Donnie. I want to feel you."

The notion blooms in my mind's eye and suddenly, I'm breathless again. "Oh... erm… I…"

A Cheshire grin lurches across her face and she beckons me forth. "Come here…"

I bring myself across her surface, skimming her body with kisses until we are facing each other—her below, me above. She is breathing hard, cheeks stained crimson and sea-colored eyes scattering about my face.

"Donnie...that was amazing—I'm almost afraid to ask why. Your tongue, god...it should be criminal what it does..." She trails off, a creeping blush flourishing across her neck.

I don't quite know what to say to that, but there is no denying I am proud of myself. Instead, I drop a kiss onto her shoulder, "I can keep going?"

"No..." She almost doesn't sound convinced, "_Our_ night. I want you here. "

She hooks her arms around my neck, kissing me. The corners of her mouth curl upwards. This time it is herself she tastes on me. I know she likes it, and it turns me on no end. Already I've fought back an innumerable amount of times from the point of no return. And believe me, it was task far more intricate than the finest of my laboratory work. How I've held on for as long as I have is only due to my resolute determination not to mess up the most sacred moment of my life. It has saved me. I want to share with her completely. To feel her on me. To move her like has she has moved me.

At her soft sigh I nuzzle into her hair, inhaling her unique smell mixed with her sweat, a combination that renders me giddy. My eyes drift back to hers. We say nothing a moment, dancing on the precipice at the enormity we are about to undertake.

"What are you feeling?" she asks softly.

My eyes drop to her body before rising to meet hers again. One corner of my mouth shifts upwards. April gives a soft titter at my coyness to speak my mind. But a new calm settles over me. I know how I feel about her. How I've always felt about her. Long overdue, I decide to remove all doubt.

"I love you." I tell her quietly. "From the moment we met, I've loved you. Feel my heart, April."

She places a flattened palm against my chest plate, the pounding therein leaving little doubt as to how much she has brought me to life. Her mouth makes a silent 'oh' in the tender quiet.

"Donnie... I love you, too. All this time... all these years... show me it wasn't wasted." she whispers, "Show me."

I kiss her deeply, my heart singing at our confessions. Where it was beating before, now it chimes clear. I swear I can hear it.

The world around us fades away. I run my thumb along her cheekbone before dropping to my elbow to support my weight. She nods, ready. With this small but monumental permission, I hold myself against her—heat on heat—grazing against her slickness until she is relaxed and soaking. The feeling of this alone is enough to shatter all resolve. But hold on I do. And though I may be a novice in this journey, I know one thing I want more than anything:

"April. Look at me."

Her gaze drifts up to fix on mine, catching the candlelight like the gold shimmer of the setting sun. She sees me for all I am, and I for all she is. We are at last one.

With a last breath, I push forward and into her warmth. She gives a soft cry, whimpering my name, fingers curling into my shoulders. She feels warm, tight, wet, godly. Inside her, I am both strong and weak. I am hers.

"_Donnie_..." she says breathlessly, her hair crumpling like a wave as I push back into the pillow.

I hold her there, pinned beneath me. Pinned by me. For a moment I remain still, her dilated pupils on mine. Instinctively I pull back, only to thrust deeper, gliding into her with a soft grunt. A feeling like no other races through my body, a high of want and longing and joy that aches to accumulate. And as I move inside her, it begins to build. Afraid of breaking her, I have not permitted my full self. And even though, scientifically, I know that this is an impossibility; to love someone, to care for someone, I choose to err on the side of caution.

"Talk ...to me..." I huff, needing her guidance so that I know that I'm doing right. I am barely able to make it out from the garble inside my mind as I skirt the edge of heaven. I look down at her, head thrown back, her breasts surging with our movement, and climb higher still.

"More," she breathes in a shaky voice, her legs wrapping around my calves, "_More_..."

At her command I go deeper, faster, rocking my hips into the most delicate and delicious part of her body. How long we are like this, I cannot say. Time has lost its meaning. But the build up inside us has been ramping up exquisitely.

Until.

I am so close...so very close. Weak at the knees, I drop my head by her neck, feeling her warm breaths race across my shoulder. She calls my name. Over and over, it brushes past her lips. The effect of all she does takes me somewhere I have never been, animalistic and raw. I lift one hand, a thumb digging into a nipple as I clasp her hair, my breaths as ragged as hers. My shift in position has set her wild, and I can feel her reach fever pitch, her body tightening around me. With a final shudder, she lets go.

I've seen things of beauty. I've watched pools of pink, red, and gold collect at the horizon just before sunrise. With each passing minute, the advancing light stretches its fingers out across the sky and forces darkness to withdraw. I've also seen things of wonder. I've passed time down by the docks, looking out on the water. At night, small waves and ripples capture the argentine moonlight as they swell and shimmer and throw themselves to the shore. And, for a moment, the entire ocean is alive—living, breathing, and draped in silver. But seeing April in the throes of passion—her back arched, her body pressed to mine—redefines such simple terms as 'beauty' and 'wonder,' for they hardly seem adequate.

Just as she settles back against the mattress, a surge of something primal urges me forth, leaving me enthralled. It's not a matter of want, but an irresistible need, white-hot and pressing. I kiss her from her lips to her cheek to her neck and finally to her shoulder. Driven by a force even stronger than my will, I close my mouth around it and bite down. She gasps and whimpers; I thrust harder. Deeper. Faster. I drive into her as if my very life depends on it and before long, an even stronger sensation bubbles and brews inside of me, waiting to be unleashed.

I've never experienced an earthquake firsthand—not a natural one at least. I've watched enough nature programs and documentaries, though, to appreciate the sheer magnitude of their strength. Some of the books I've acquired over the years have touched upon their technical aspects—everything from plate tectonics and the Richter Scale to 'S' and 'P' waves. And while I've never felt the Earth tremble beneath me, the gradual accumulation of energy within my body is the closest I've come. Before I even realize it, the fault that is my self-control shifts and tremor after tremor tears through me, beginning in my manhood and radiating outward, coming to an end in my toes. It is the single greatest feeling I've ever felt, set to a chorus of grunts and moans, and enhanced by the woman lying beneath me and trailing kisses along my jaw.

I collapse beside her, sweat clinging to me like a second skin. Breathing heavily, I pull her close and nuzzle into the crook of her neck. The heat of our bodies mingles as we bask in the afterglow, mirrored by the dancing orange flame of the candle.

She leans into me and, with a small sigh, breaks the silence. "All of these years… All of these years I was looking for something I thought I'd never find, and it was right in front of me all along… I can't believe I ever doubted my feelings for you…"

"April, don't…" I say, tightening my hold on her. "Don't be so hard on yourself. You're incredible… everything about you… So, please… Don't dwell on things that can't be changed."

"But all this time…"

"You're more than worth the wait… And for what it's worth, I wouldn't change a thing."

She kisses me on the top of my head. "You're too good to me, Donnie. You always have been."

We remain in each other's arms. I listen to the sound of her breathing, steady and deep, and feel my eyelids growing heavy. But suddenly and without a word, she gets up; nervously, I follow her lead.

"Is everything alright?" she asks, brows knitted.

"Well, you, uh… I thought that… I mean, I…" Taking a deep breath, I stop myself from going further. Not only because I'm stammering, but because I'm ashamed to admit that I thought she was signaling me to leave. Instead, she reaches down to the floor, scoops up her comforter and pillows, and hops back into bed.

"Join me." she says with a smile. "Just try not to fall out again this time, alright?"

"Very funny, Miss O'Neil. But we both know that only happened because you can't keep your hands off of me…"

She laughs the sweetest of laughs. "Just get in here."

I climb into the bed and put my arm around her; she spreads the comforter over our intertwined bodies. And though we've never before shared a bed, it feels like the most natural thing in the world.

"Donnie?" she says, absently tracing the lines in my plastron.

"Yeah?"

"Tell me you love me."

"You know I do."

"I know. I just want to hear you say it."

"I love you, Miss O'Neil."

I watch her as her body loosens and she drifts off to sleep, her heart beating in cadence with mine. Amid the silence and with only my thoughts for company, I think back on all of the years: years I spent pining for her, dreaming of her, yearning for her. For the longest while, I believed that the things we desire most leave us most disappointed. But I realize now that I was wrong. Everything she has given me—her trust, her body, her love—it is all more than I could have ever dreamed. And as I drift off to sleep with her in my arms, I feel complete.

...


	4. Natural Processes

**Chapter 4: Natural Processes**

I awaken in darkness, the candle having long since winked out, and for a fraction of a second I don't know where I am. Then I feel her, the curve of her back pressed to my front, my arm draped over the dip of her waist. The realization starts my heart with a kick: April is in my arms..._April_ is in my _arms_! She is warm, much warmer than I am used to, and my body has partially found its way atop the linen. But even asleep it is apparent that I couldn't bear to let her go. I breathe softly, almost afraid of moving, as if it could somehow break the spell that has charmed us tonight.

Having crashed on April's couch many times in the past, I am familiar with the sound of her sleeping. I have lost count of the times we have watched TV together until she, ensnared within the folds of a blanket, has drifted off to the dulcet tones of a chiseled (yet, in my observation, intellectually questionable) actor. It is a sound I associate with our time together, a sound that makes me smile to no end. She is beauty at peace.

I lower my chin to her shoulder, kissing the teeth marks I am sure I have left there.

"I love you." I whisper, hoping somehow it finds its way to her in the realm of her dreams. To my utter shock, it does. Her arm wraps around mine a little tighter as she gives a happy sigh.

"Are you awake?" she whispers drowsily.

So much for not disturbing her. I, a trained ninja, expected better of myself—but considering the circumstances, I let it slide.

"Mm-hm." I murmur into her hair.

She takes my hand and cups it to her breast.

"Better." she says.

I can almost see her smiling in the dark. I slip my hand down her body and begin rubbing her naked behind, paying particular attention to where the slope plunges down to meet with her thighs.

"Even better." I tell her.

"That is... _not_ fair..."

Her own hand reaches back, fingertips curling at the lower edge of my plastron as she begins to grind into me. All parts of me initialize for recommencement. She must think I'm playing it cool, but in actual fact my heart has jumped back into my throat.

"Donnie?"

"Mm-hm?" I answer tightly.

"I..uh..."

I can feel her touch me in places that only she has touched. She wants me.

And she doesn't have to ask twice.

When I awake again I am alone in a sun-drenched room. The smell of hot food laces its way in through the crack beneath the door, and suddenly I am aware of one very real thing: I am ravenous with the kind of hunger I have not experienced since our frequent days of famine as a youngster. I fling an arm out, confirming she is gone, then roll to my feet in a hazy turn of the world. In the hallway, I pause. Before heading to the kitchen and facing her as a freshly woken jumble, I decide to make a quick detour to the bathroom, rinsing off in the shower and fishing out the spare toothbrush she keeps for me in her cabinet. As I brush, my mind begins to wander...

It has always been a bit of an inside joke within my family that I am two things: a heavy sleeper and a light eater. I am by far the most slender of my brothers, and the tallest. And as frequently as I stay up to all hours poring over the most complex of engineering problems or programming quandaries, I often find myself clocking out of consciousness at anyplace, anytime—bright lights, blaring sounds, it doesn't seem to matter—until I have satisfied some kind of internal allotment for rest. April, knowing me, knows this. But some part of me can't help but feel aflutter that she has left me behind.

All fears are allayed when I step out into the dining area to see a spread fit for the Queen of England awaiting me—bacon and eggs, toast, and a plethora of spreads to lacquer the latter. Much more than my usual breakfast fare, which consists primarily of a hot cup of coffee. With a grin that powers up every cell inside my body, she comes to me, tossing her arms about my neck. I cling to her bathrobe. She smells showered and fresh, and just all around lovely.

"Morning, Sunshine." she says.

She presses her lips against mine, and I soak every ounce of affection she has to give. I return her greeting with the most unashamedly goofy of grins, my arms sliding to rest on her the small of her back, before finally gaining the wherewithal to answer:

"Last night… April, wow, last night was... "

"_Yeah_." she finishes with the secretive smile I have come to love.

My eyes drift to the faint red marks I have left on her shoulder. She catches my gaze with a shrug.

"Oh _that_. You're paying for that later."

"I hope so." I tell her, and am rewarded with bout of laughter. I kiss the evidence, whispering, "I'm sorry."

"Don't be."

There is something dark and wanting in her reply. Later cannot come soon enough. In the meantime I try to have a clean string of thought, shifting my attention to the feast set out on the dining table.

"You've been busy. I would have been happy to help."

"I couldn't wake you even if I had a detonator and C4 handy." she tells me, not untruthfully, "Besides, you looked very cute."

I scoff.

"I don't think I've ever been accused of that before."

"Then I'll have to make up for lost time," she murmurs before kissing me again. She releases me with a shove. "Now, _Eat!_"

"Believe me, I'd eat _you_ if you got in the way...how did you know?"

April tilts her head: "Call it a hunch."

She grabs my hand and forcibly sits me down, and I am in no position to protest. In fact, I welcome it. As I grab a few slices of toast from the pile, I can hear her behind me pouring coffee from the carafe. Returning, she rubs my neck before placing it down beside me.

"Your boot-up juice, m'lord?"

This term is a favorite of Mikey's, who often likens my morning coffee ritual to booting up a computer. It was hilarious the first dozen times. April likes to poke me with it, now and again, after a particularly deep bout of shut-eye.

"Thank you, Miss O'Neil."

I clasp her hand as she begins to walk away, kissing her knuckles like some kind of groveling subject. She gives a giggle and playfully slaps me away. Coffee now in hand, I sip, marveling at how quickly I have gotten used to our intimacy. I can't explain it, but nothing has felt more right in my life than her and I together.

Breakfast is devoured in a heartbeat. Having something salty and fatty in my stomach gives me a new sense of satisfaction, and the morning passes by in what seems like only seconds as we pick at the long since cold remains—talking and laughing, debating and forgiving—the whole while unable to keep our hands off each other... until finally the topic of my family comes up.

"_Raph_." she says with an air of somberness. "You think he's going to say something to the others?"

I consider the question only a moment.

"He's more likely to keep it up his sleeve like some kind of ammunition." I tell her, having no doubt that this will be the case "Little does he know, I am going to beat him to the punch."

"Really?"

I nod, "If you don't mind?"

She shakes her head with a grin.

"I mean, April. We practically live in each other's pockets as it is. Maybe it shouldn't be such a shock that we, um...uh..."

"Hooked up?" she asks with feigned innocence.

"Well..."

"Got it on?"

"I was going to say-"

"Discovery channeled the hell out of each other?"

My mind goes blank. The way she is looking at me, teasing me, baiting me, has triggered something ferocious in my body. Before I know it, I have scooped her up heap of white terrycloth and limbs.

"Maybe we should go over the details in bed?"

"It's too bad you've already cleaned up." she muses before brushing something invisible off my shoulder, "Although the way you're looking at me is _absolutely_ filthy. I'm afraid I'm going to have to insist we hit the showers."

"Showers?" I reiterate, a little at a loss.

"You're a smart guy, Donnie. You'll figure it out when we get there."

Taking heed, I carry her into the bathroom and over the lip of the tub, snagging and subsequently derailing several of the shower curtain rings as I do. I try to refasten them, but my bulky hands make the task needlessly difficult. Embarrassment chips away at me. How is it I can build complex machinery from salvaged materials but I can't figure out how to hook a plastic loop onto a metal rod? I blow out my breath in a steady stream of exasperation; she, on the other hand, simply smiles. Taking it all in stride—my inelegance included—she unties her robe, lobs the sash around my neck, and pulls me close.

"It can wait." she says, "And I don't want to…"

She presses her lips to mine. I slip my hands beneath her robe and slide it from her body. Tossing it aside, I lift her off of her feet, pin her against the wall, and explore her with my hands and mouth. Her breaths grow ragged and her eyes flutter shut. With her free hand, she reaches down and turns on the shower; hot water rains down upon us and steam rises from below, swaying and twirling as if alive. Wrapped in a chrysalis of heat and holding the woman I love, the urge to take her here and now is all-consuming. But as I make a move to do just that, she stops me.

"L-let's not forget why we're in here…" she produces a bottle of lavender body wash and a loofah. Then, with a giggle, she adds: "Actually, this was just an excuse for me to get my hands on you again."

"Like you need an excuse…"

At that, she squeezes a generous amount of body wash onto the loofah. "Well… true, but… there's no harm in having one at the ready, is there?"

When one lives with three brothers, time in the bathroom in general and the shower specifically, is at a premium. Bathing becomes in exercise in speed and efficiency; a quick rinse of the blood, grime, and muck and maybe—if you're lucky—a minute or so to let the hot water soothe and loosen achy muscles. So maybe that's why the concept of a "relaxing" shower or bath was foreign to me. But as she runs the loofah up and down my body, it's safe to say that I'm a convert. Despite knowing that my skin is thicker and tougher than a human's, she's exceedingly gentle pouring over every inch of me, covering me in foamy lather. It feels like love. To be touched so tenderly, to be yearned for so completely, to be entirely in the moment with her makes everything seem eternal.

I wrap my arms around her and hold her, rocking slightly to and fro. Reaching down, I subtly slide the loofah from her grasp. "You're so beautiful, April. What did I ever do to deserve you?"

"Everything..." she replies, peering up at me through a veil of steam. "And that's just what I'll do to keep you with me…"

I sweep my hand across the wall, blindly looking for the bottle of body wash; she, ever perceptive, takes the bottle from the edge of the tub and hands it to me. I pour some of it over her shoulders and breasts and in soft circular motions, massage her with the loofah, skimming across her body with my fingers.

Some things are better the second time around. While last night is and shall ever be burned into my memory, I was too nervous—too worried I'd repulse or disappoint her—to truly appreciate how stunning she is. Now things are different. She has given herself to me and I to her and through the experience, our bond has grown stronger. This time, though my emotions still stir, fear is not among them.

I move down her body deliberately, savoring every detail no matter how minute: the milky tone of her skin, the firmness of her calves, the daintiness of her feet. I pay every part of her dutiful attention. Kneeling, I take in the sight of her smiling down upon me. She runs her fingers through her hair, combing damp strands from her eyes and neck. Brushing my cheek, she turns away from me. I stand, close the space between us, and kiss her neck as my hands linger on her hips. She sighs blissfully and throws her head to the side, inviting me in. I suck and nibble, and shift my hands inward ever so slightly until my fingers find her clit and dance across it. Her knees buckle and her body lurches forward; reflexively, she braces herself against the wall with both hands. I persist until her moans of delight drown out the sound of the rushing water.

Without missing a beat, I clasp my hands over hers and enter her from behind. I thrust slowly and deeply, my lips and tongue playing upon the nape of her neck all the while. Her cries of pleasure mingle with my grunts and the hissing of the water. And though our first time together will always hold a special place, all is amplified now. My heart has been liberated, my misgivings laid to rest, and my dreams fulfilled. And as I expend myself inside of her and we wilt in each other's arms, our future together—something that once existed only in my wildest reveries—seems a welcome certainty in an uncertain world.

...

We are sprawled on the bed like a couple of withered trees keeled over by scandal. She lifts a branch and drops a small sweet onto my tongue from the tips of her shoots. God, I adore her, my beautiful evergreen, laying bare in a tangle of sheets as the soft whir of the city thrums around us. Wisely, I decide to keep that thought in the vault... I'm not sure if she'd appreciate being called a tree. Even as a compliment. Although, what can I say? Green looks good on her.

"Well, my darling?"

Her voice is as sweet as nectar. _Stop it. Stop with the trees._

"Banana." I say, placing the flavor of the velvety sludge that oozes from within the chocolate casing.

"Really? What did it look like?"

"Some kind of Art deco molded on top of it."

"Hm. Very specific… you observant geek. Good?"

"Best one so far."

She frowns and flips the box around.

"Oh _darn_, there doesn't seem to be any more of those left. What. Are. The. Chances?"

I can hear it. The complete and utter lie.

"Would you mind if did a little fact-checking on _that_ particular observation?" I say, reaching for the packet.

She shakes her head and pulls it out of my range with a laugh.

"No! No more banana for you! They're mine!"

"I'll give you banana, Miss O'Neil..."

She gives a dark titter, and I squeeze her thigh for good measure. April, shady as the night itself, passes off the sliver of cheekiness with a grin. She reaches inside the pack and takes one. As she chews I roll close and press my mouth against hers. Laughing, she pushes me off—but not before I've tasted her.

"_Strawberry_." I tell her with a smack of my lips.

"That was meant to be strawberry?"

"Unless that's just you."

Her eyes crease into a smile as she swallows.

"You're right. It was me. I'm as delicious as a sun kissed strawberry on a dewy meadow."

"You are much tastier than that." I murmur.

"Yeah?"

"Yeah."

"Yeah?"

"C'mere and let me check again..."

We have been playing this game for over half an hour. Spent into exhaustion from our love making, we are taking stock of ourselves, replenishing our bodies as we eat baubles of mystery chocolate from her secret stash. This non-descript box, she's told me, is a Christmas gift from a work client. The chocolate itself was sporting a peculiar white coating, on the verge of going stale, but we couldn't care less. Sugar calls to us like flies. It's a small thing, but I can't recall a time I've had more fun doing... _nothing_. I collapse back onto my pillow with the happiest of sighs.

April peers over at me.

"This is nice. God knows how I _love_ picking apart your flawless programming looking for non-existent redundancies, but this is so relaxing."

I try to suppress a chuckle—she has my mask wound across her upper arm, reminiscent of some kind of Amazonian warrior. In a way we have emerged from several battles today, very much victorious.

"It is."

"We always seem to have fun together," she continues, "whether we're tearing something apart… or each other."

"I've always loved tearing things apart. Or each other." I agree sagely.

"Hmm. Just think of all the things we'd normally be doing right now. I was going to clean out my fridge today."

"Funny. I was going to reseal the fridge back at the lair. I think I know what I'd rather be doing."

"Dare I ask?"

I smirk and raise a single brow ridge in reply. April laughs as she pries the box of candy open.

"Here. Last one."

She hand-feeds me, quickly sneaking it in so I can't see its shape.

I nod as I chew.

_Banana_. It is every reason I love her.

"So what were you going to say before?" she asks.

Drifting in the haze of joy she has created around me, I barely make out her question.

"Hm?"

"Earlier you were saying it shouldn't be a shock to your family? You and me?"

Staring up at the ceiling, I slide my hand by my side until I have captured hers.

"What I was going to say, before our wonderful detour, was...maybe they shouldn't be so surprised that we love each other."

She is quiet a moment, and I feel her squeeze back. Alarmed by her silence I glance over at her. Tears are swarming her eyes.

"_Donnie_."

Just one word. Just my name. I can hear a lifetime of regret in it. Her hair falls by the sides of my face as she rises to kiss me. I am in truly in her sanctum.

"Oh, Donnie... I should have done this a long time ago..."

"I'll take anything you give." I say in a choked voice. If it sounded pathetic or weak, I didn't care. If part of love was about exposing your vulnerabilities to someone you trusted, I could think of no better soul to open up to, "You know that, right?"

"Everything." she says again. Her eyes glimmer with joy and sadness, hope and regret. "I will give you everything."

Her head drops to my chest and her arms wrap around my body, dangling from the edges of my shell. Though my plastron is thick, I can feel her warm breaths upon it. We remain like this a while. I never want to get used to her basking on my body in content. But time is a strange beast. I cannot recall a day that has passed by quicker in my life. The shadows in the room grow longer as the daylight migrates to the other side of the world. If only I could hold onto it forever.

"You need to go, don't you?" she says eventually.

I've avoided looking at the time. It would only make me complicit in being late.

"I don't want to… " I couldn't think of anything I want to do less than be away from her, "I've already thought of several ways I can go about all my daily activities from this very spot. I can mock up the drafts later if you want to peek."

"Hm." she chuckles, "Make sure it's for two."

Her arms grip tighter around me. Out of all the things we've said and done, the next thing is making me unusually nervous. Probably because part of me thinks she'll brush me off, and our whole night will be nothing but a hiccup in her mind she wants to forget. Even though everything points to the contrary, it is a fear I cannot yet shake.

"Come with me."

"Isn't Leo dragging you all out for training tonight?"

"You can wait at the Lair. We'll be back by midnight, I guarantee it. The others will be too pumped to sleep, so they'll probably embark some kind of movie or gaming marathon. We can excuse ourselves to the lab... or join them, I don't mind."

April and I have pulled all-nighters so often it would not look in the slightest bit odd for her to do the same again. There's even a makeshift cot we have set-up for her in a spare section of the Lair...although more often than not she either crashes on the sofa or we rotate use of my bed.

April laces her fingers together and props her chin upon it, casting me a conceding grin.

"I do have that app I've been wanting to work on loaded on your computer."

"Great!"

"Alright. One condition. We behave ourselves over there... I want to keep you all to myself a little longer. Well, you, me, and _Raph_."

I've spent the last many years behaving myself. This should be a breeze.

"Consider it done."


	5. Independent Variables

**Chapter 5: Independent Variables**

Our walk through the sewers is far more spirited and relaxed than our last. Though my family's reaction to our being together looms overhead, we focus on everything but; worrying about it won't get us anywhere and it certainly won't help matters. I suppose I'd be nervous if I was unsure what to expect, but I already have an idea of how it will go. In a perfect world, they would be supportive of us and happy for us, but I'm not foolish enough to believe that will happen. Instead, I envision a mixed reception: acceptance and apprehension mingled together. I'm ready for it. And with her by my side presenting a united front, I feel nothing short of invincible.

"Ugh…" she mutters, clutching her hand to her stomach. "Eating all of that chocolate was not one of my better ideas. I think my body is rejecting it. How are you holding up?"

We're walking hand-in-hand, our arms swaying back and forth with every step. I give hers a gentle squeeze and clear my throat.

"I feel great! How can I be otherwise when I'm with you?"

She smiles. "I could say the same about you." As I lean in to kiss her, her stomach rumbles and snarls. She takes a deep breath to steady herself. "I read this online review of sugar-free gummy bears that painted a none-too-pretty picture of what happens when one overindulges on certain sweets. I believe it contained the phrase 'gaping maw spewing atomic diarrhea'…"

Only she could say something so graphic and make it sound remotely endearing. One of the many reasons I adore her.

"I love it when you talk dirty… I suppose I'm no worse for wear because of my superhuman gastrointestinal tract…"

"Side-effect of mutation?"

"Side-effect of being Mikey's taste-tester. He's a great cook now, but there was a time when sampling his food could send the strongest of constitution scurrying to the bathroom."

"With 'atomic diarrhea'?"

I laugh. "Yes. Or projectile vomit. Take your pick."

We round the final bend. The glow of the Lair burns dimly before us. There's a degree of finality to it, for I know that when we arrive, life as it's been will change for good or ill. We exchange glances and, with reluctance, she drops her hand from mine.

"Are you ready?"

"Yeah. I think so. All we have to do is act natural until I get back from training. Then we can tell them everything."

"Everything?"

"Within reason…"

She pecks me on the cheek. "I know. I just wanted to get a rise out of you. You're cute when you're flustered. When you get back, we'll tell them about us…"

We arrive in silence and push through the turnstiles. At the very sound Mikey materializes, from where I am unsure. He looks us over with eyes as wide as dinner plates, his hands upturned in exasperation.

"Donnie, where've you been, bro? No one knew where ya were. Well, that's not true. Raph grumbled something about you being an asshole and took off. But Leo's been lookin' for you and he's not happy. You're in deep, dude."

"Well, I uh…"

As he comes closer, his eyes narrow and he sniffs the air, detecting something out-of-place. "Personal question here, D… But why do you smell like you've been frolicking through a field of flowers?"

Crud. In my rush to get back, I forgot to mask the scent of April's body wash. What a careless, foolish, rookie mistake. I try to think of a logical explanation, but come up empty. Fortunately, April fills the silence.

"Well Mikey, Donnie walked me home last night and went out looking for parts in the junkyard afterward — you know how he gets. He spilled gas all over himself while he was there and so he showered at my place. And I'm fresh out of Old Spice…"

His eyes pull from me to her and back again. He sighs and rubs his eyes roughly. "Can you guys do me a favor? Please?"

We nod affirmatively.

"Look, I'm in your corner. Believe me when I say that. But if you're gonna bail randomly, can you at least come up with better excuses? You know how Leo gets when one of us goes AWOL and when he gets that way, Raph gets even Raphier than usual. So… can you do that…? Or at least text me so I can come up with some kind of cover for ya?"

I flinch at the direct confrontation. But after the initial shock has worn off, I feel a profound sense of gratefulness. Mikey, for all his innate lack of focus, has ferreted out the truth within seconds. And remains undisturbed by it. _Glad_, even. I glance back at April. She looks as surprised as I do.

"Y-yeah. Thanks." I stutter, "I'll…uh…I'll go roll around in a grease puddle or something."

April falls onto my brother, capturing him in a hug.

"Mikey—after what Raph said to us I didn't think you would-" she stops herself with a shake of her head, "Thank you."

"Wait – Raph knows about this?" A light goes off in his eyes as he seems to reflect on our brother's behavior over the last 24 hours, "Yeah. It's all making sense now."

"That bad, huh?"

"Pffft. The _real_ headline's right in front 'a me. How 'bout this: ya late 'cause ya lost track of time configuring something 'techno-babbly' at April's apartment. That's kinda true, amirite?

"Uh…"

"Yeah. Thought so."

"I guess there was an issue with my front entrance security system?" April ventures, "Oh god… does that make it sound worse?"

Michelangelo gives a wink and a clack of his tongue and a thumbs-up sign. The whole effect is both unsettling and pacifying. So much so that I think I can feel a bout of the dreaded atomic diarrhea brewing within.

"_I'd_ believe ya…a million people wouldn't, but _I'd _believe ya."

April presses her feet together and buries her face in her hands. She gives a sigh before lifting her head to give me the most defeated yet accepting laugh.

"So much for keeping it under wraps."

I want to hold her, to comfort her. In its place, I give her a surreptitious brush of her fingertips with mine—it doesn't go unnoticed by Michelangelo, but to my relief, he lets it go without remark. He's brilliantly intuitive like that, knowing when to prod and when to lay off.

"So…ya hanging around for some classic Kung Fu and popcorn later, Apes?"

"Sure. I mean," her eyes wander to over me as a smile creeps over her face, "Sure."

As I peer back at April, all my bravado about behaving myself seems to liquefy along with the contents of my stomach. Her hair, shiny and fragrant, has been swooped over one shoulder and rests on her fitted jacket. All I want to do is bury my face in there and kiss her neck until she can't form words. Michelangelo's voice breaks into our solitude seemingly from afar:

"Yeah. You guys might wanna save that look for later. Or until I'm not standing right here in front of ya."

We both drop our gaze a little red-faced, muttering apologies to Mikey, whom up until now, has been an unheralded champion of ours. Then, hearing something long before we do, he holds a finger to his lips. Automatically, April and I gain a respectful distance from each other just as Leonardo and Raphael round the corner from the training room. Wherever Raphael has been, he's since found his way back home. And I suspect they spent some of the last while packing some of the equipment and weaponry we will be using tonight. Of late, Leonardo has been particularly keen on perfecting our rope and tactical scaling exercises, but try as I might, I have been falling behind. Probably because I've been far more pre-occupied with upgrading our vehicle armory and actually _constructing _the grappling hooks as opposed to using them. I brace myself for the onslaught, hearing them muttering to themselves about which things to leave behind. All I catch is that the grappling hooks are a no-go. A minor relief, really.

"Don." Leonardo speaks as he notices me standing there, "Decided to make it back for training?"

He gives April a gracious tip of his head before zeroing back in on me.

I know, of course, what he is alluding to:

There has been one steadfast rule in our family since the time we could walk, made only more pronounced since the introduction of our T-cells. If, for any reason, we are out of the Lair alone, we are required 'out of courtesy' to give an approximate location and ETA. As we have been reminded time and time again, we have only each other to rely on. Raph has ignored this rule on more than one occasion, much to Leonardo's annoyance and Splinter's disapproval, and has been met with firm reprimand for it. As for myself – between various junkyards, April's company, and sewer explorations—I have never slipped up once. Until yesterday.

"I know – I'm sorry. I guess I wasn't thinking…"

"No kiddin'" comes the rolling growl from Raphael's corner.

My tardiness alone is not what is irking him. Raphael is a loyal friend to Casey, and I can sense his dislike for what has happened between April and I will soon brew over unless addressed. This can no longer wait until after training. I glance over at April and she nods.

"Leo." I tell him at last. "I was with April."

I mean, of _course_ I was with April. I usually am. And he probably inferred as such from Raphael's testy grunts. But it is not quite what I mean. Leonardo seems to pause a moment, his perceptive gaze flickering between the two of us. He is just about to say something but stops himself short. Perhaps he can detect the scent of 'frolicking in flowers' all over me, too?

"Right." he says at length. If I didn't know him so well I would have almost missed the ghost of a smirk he has going. "But you know the deal, Don."

"That was probably my fault." April explains apologetically, "I'm sorry guys; I won't keep you worrying about him again."

"No. The blame lies completely with me." I cannot help but amend.

April shoots me over a small grin, very briefly touching my arm. Any doubt in Leo's mind must have surely dissipated by now.

"Hey." Mikey gives an affable shrug, "What's a day without a little overreacting in the Lair?"

I got off light, I know it. But I have little doubt Leonardo will make me pay for it in training. He, like life itself, always finds a way. From my peripheral vision I notice Raphael shifting restlessly as he becomes increasingly agitated. If I thought this was over, I was very wrong.

"That's it? That's the '_Great Leader'_ pullin' the troops in line?"

"Not quite." Leonardo announces to us all, "I've had a change of heart with the training. Let's take the grappling hooks, I think we could do with a little more work on it. And look alive, boys, we're leaving in ten."

After a prerequisite groan from Mikey, we all begin to disperse, readying ourselves to go topside. Catching April's attention, I indicate towards the lab. With a smile she follows me in. As soon as the door is shut behind us, she is on me. I stumble towards the room's edge, throwing my hands out and entrapping her between the wall and me, as we spend our precious remaining minutes together covering each other in kisses.

"That went better than expected." she laughs as I'm at her neck. I lift my head to answer her.

"Ask me that if I get back from training in one piece."

She weaves my mask tails through her fingers like twin violet rivers and pulls me back in before telling me:

"You'd better goddamn take care of yourself out there, Donnie. I want you back so I can do the real damage."

I lobby back the tease, "That's the plan."

She is kissing me when an oversight strikes her-

"Splinter?"

"It's after eight. He heads in early these days."

"Oh."

"Tomorrow?"

"Tomorrow."

Though the thought of disclosing our relationship to Splinter is a little uncomfortable, we have both agreed that it seemed disrespectful to inform everyone but him. Furthermore, I want his approval. I want to hold her in my arms and have it known that we are each other's. But any remaining sensible line of thinking vanishes along with our time. How is it that it can disintegrate so readily the more you want to savor it?

"Cripes." I curse as I catch the time on my digital clock, "I have to go. If you need anything – _anything_ – you call me."

She traces her nails along my cheek.

"I'm big and bad enough to look after myself in your vaulted and armed room."

I take her hand, "Not from me."

"No," she says as she moves in on me, "Not from you…"

Our parting kiss is interrupted by a sharp knock on the door.

"Donnie-boy? Ya ready yet? We're about ta split. And ya owe me one 'cause I got ya gear for ya out here."

* * *

During our time on the surface wrestling with ropes, shonky fire-escapes and time-trials, Leonardo had made it his duty to throw book at me, honing in on my every weakness and making me repeat all my less-than-stellar techniques until I passed some kind of unspoken test with him. He drives me so exhausted that I can barely recall my name. But he doesn't break me. No matter what pain I endured, no matter how much my muscles seethed with the flooding of lactic acid, just the mere thought of April kept me going. But Leonardo is not heartless. Well, not completely. By the end of our session he had granted me a curt nod, telling me that whatever had changed over the last day served me well. It's the little things from him, sometimes, that key you in to his support.

As we all stumble back into the Lair (except for Leonardo, that is, who apparently has no sweat glands), I hear chattering in the kitchen. I can distinctly make out April's voice. Pushing through the turnstiles, I am confronted with the sight of none other than Casey Jones.

"Guys!" he booms, thrusting himself upwards with a screech of his seat, "Ya back! Finally. Let's get this night started."

He claps his hands together, the sound echoing in the awkward silence.

"_Heyyy_, Case." Michelangelo responds with an uncharacteristically feigned chirpiness, "What are ya- I mean, what a _surprise_!"

I suddenly feel a dozen eyes on me. Ten, to be precise.

"Yeah?" Casey says with a grin, "Raph told me youse guys were gonna watch movies tonight, an' I'm as bored as all hell. So here I am. Even brought over somethin'"

He holds up a DVD copy of a gangster film that I recall being in the vicinity of three hours long. Casey has no plans on leaving anytime soon. Luckily, Raphael picks up the slack, slapping his back and instructing him to chill out on the couch while he hits the showers. Everyone else departs to clean up. Everyone except April and I.

I collapse onto a kitchen stool with a weary exhale, shooting a tender grin back up at her. With all witnesses out of sight, she leans over the counter and sneaks a kiss on my head. She arches back, pupils widened.

"I'm sorry." she whispers.

"What for?"

April tips her head towards the living room where we can hear Casey struggling with the DVD player in a colorful series of curses and bangs.

"He dropped in unannounced a little while ago and has been _entertaining_ me ever since."

I give a toss of my head, "I'm the one that should apologize - I _reek_."

"No." she says resolutely, "You smell nice."

"Really? Mikey called dibs on the shower first and lucky me got the long straw."

April presses her lips inwards and nods. The way she is looking at me…

"Very masculine." she tells me, "I like it."

"If only I had known all these years…" I say with joviality. But even I can tell it feels a little forced. The elephant in the room is, quite literally, one room over.

She drops her gaze to the empty cup in front of her, "I haven't told him."

"That's—of course. I don't think either one of us could do with a blow-up tonight. And Casey was never part of the plan. He'll find out eventually."

"You think? I don't know what Raph's been saying to him," she begins softly, "but he's been laying it on real thick with me tonight."

Unexpectedly, I feel a twinge of jealously. Its strength takes me by surprise. I will it down, trying to remain rational.

"Oh."

The word sounds brittle, exposing my insecurity in the face of this new development.

"Don't worry, Don, I've been deflecting it for years now."

She looks all knotted up, and instantly I regret being so base as to let remnants of her and Casey's past relationship overrule my thoughts. Casey wants her back. It stings, but the last thing I want is to throw it back it her. I may be new at navigating relationships but the thought of hurting her is unconscionable to me. Maybe that's where Casey and I differ the most.

Perhaps what wounds me more is the idea of Raphael being behind this.

"I trust you, April." I tell her, "I just can't believe Raph would resort to undermining us like that. After all the times he's gone nuclear over personal boundaries… the hypocrisy is unbelievable."

She folds her hand on top of mine.

"Let him try. Nothing is getting between us."

In answer, I turn my hand and caress her wrist. She smiles and my heart floods with love. We all but forget where we are when a distant voice interjects our solitude.

"Hey, you two!" Casey calls out from the living room, "Ya comin' or not?"


	6. The Oceanographers

**Chapter 6: The Oceanographers**

"In a couple of minutes, Casey…" she says pointedly. "Can't you see we're talking?"

Jones grumbles something I can't quite make out and busies himself with small, unnecessary tasks—from fluffing the pillows and beanbag chairs to adjusting the contrast on the TV—presumably to fill the empty space between now and the moment he unfurls whatever he and Raph have planned.

It's funny how some dynamics of a relationship remain steady and unchanging while others are constantly in-flux. Jones and I have never shared and especially warm relationship and I certainly don't see that changing. At best, we regard each other with grudging respect; at worst, we antagonize one another until fisticuffs seem the inevitable conclusion. Oddly enough, though, some things have changed over time, particularly where April is concerned. When Casey first showed interest in her, I was a gawky, insecure sixteen year-old. As such, I assumed that she'd prefer his company to mine and backed off, allowing him to overshadow me. At the time, I thought I was doing the sensible thing…until my feelings for her refused to be ignored. When they started seeing each other, I became downright adversarial. When he strutted about vaingloriously, flaunting her like some prize he had won, I wasted no time deriding him—preying on his insecurities and making him look like a troglodyte whenever possible. It was juvenile and I'm not proud of it, but I was hurting and he wasn't entirely innocent, either. When they broke up, I made myself available to her. I was her sympathetic ear, confidant, and shoulder to cry on; he, on the other hand, grew resentful, blamed me for his shortcomings, and went out of his way to make her ambivalent—either about me or the potential salvation of their relationship. So, I suppose it's only fitting that he's here now, trying to sow seeds of discontent.

"I wonder what he's up to… what power-play he plans on making… This reeks of one of his schemes…"

"Are you sure that isn't me..?"

She smiles and leans into me. "I'm positive. Still… I wonder… Why must he cause friction? Why can't he just let it go..?

"For the same reason I never gave up. Some things are worth fighting for…" My arm finds its way around the small of her back. "Whatever happens—whatever he and Raph try to pull—it'll never change how I feel about you…"

As we sway back and forth, savoring each other's warmth and the comfort of proximity, Mikey and Leo emerge looking revitalized. Leo—unfailingly proper and polite—makes a beeline for the living area to play host while Mikey flits about, rifling through cupboards under the guise of gathering snacks. Only an attentive observer would notice that the items he's pulling out in no way complement each other: jars of pickles, a bottle of chocolate syrup, a box of baking soda, and the white wine vinegar he uses on occasion to whip up new-fangled sauces or reductions.

"Dude…" he murmurs from the corner of his mouth. "Raph's got somethin' up his sleeve. I passed him as he went into the bathroom. He's got that look in his eye…"

"Thanks, Mikey." I whisper back. "We figured as much. Guess we'll find out soon enough, right?"

With a sigh, he nods; grabs a kettle, oil, and popping corn; and heads over to the stove. The kernels hiss and pop, sounding like small-arms fire—the preliminary skirmish of an impending war. April kisses me on the cheek and goes to lend him a hand. The sight of them, practically hip-to-hip, makes me smile. Though I don't always understand Mikey, I never question his motives. His head may venture into the clouds, but his heart is always in the right place.

"Shower's all yours, Donnie…"

There's an unusual lilt—almost a melodic bounce—to Raph's words. He shoots me a wink, saunters over to Leo and Jones, and plops down in the sofa with all of the grace of a leaden weight. I, on the other hand, feel nauseous, like all of the bile in my liver has escaped and is trying to claw its way up my esophagus. I consider forgoing my shower, to wait it out and toss a wrench into the gears of Raph and Jones's master plan, but with sweat and filth clinging to me, it seems a sacrifice I can ill afford. Ambling up behind April, I slide my arms around her waist and breather her in. "I won't be long…"

"Take your time..."

"I would… but unfortunately not all showers are created equal…"

Mikey, mere inches away and to point markedly open-minded about the evolution of our relationship, shivers in mock disgust. "Aww, dude! I don't wanna hear details and stuff! Scary visual place!"

I leave the kitchen, grab a towel from my room, and head to the bathroom. When I open the door, a wall of steam billows out, enveloping me and filling the hallway. Wafting it away, I step in and see the destruction Raph has left in his wake: every fixture is dripping wet and covered in a thin film of soap; used towels—saturated and sopping—litter the floor; and his used wraps, foul-smelling and frayed, are soaking in fetid brown water. It takes a moment for me to process it all but when I do, the switch in my mind snaps from disbelief to outrage. Raph knows that ever since we were little, the last one out of the shower is responsible for tidying up the bathroom. It was a rule instituted by Master Splinter to instill a sense of responsibility and interdependence—after all, if everyone is courteous and neat, no one will ever get stuck cleaning a horrific mess. And it's been effective; no one's ever taken advantage…until now. A series of colorful four-letter words jump from my tongue. All of this was done to buy Jones some time. And knowing Jones as I do—as it's important to know one's opponents—he's making the most of it.

I'm not taking the bait, even if it means double calisthenics and isometrics.

Whipping around, propelled by anger, I march back to the kitchen. As I approach, I hear raised voices bickering back and forth:

"…Hand t' God April, I'm diff'rent now. Honest! I've changed… Quit drinkin' and everythin'…"

"That's great, Casey, good for you. But… I've heard it all before and it wouldn't be the first time you fooled me…"

"But I want you back, babe. I want **us** back…"

"Look, I don't want…"

I round the corner in time to see him thrust his lips against hers; his arms snaking around her core and pulling her in close. He has Mikey boxed out and pinned between the wall and the stove while Raph runs interference in the living room, staving Leo off. This was their plan all along. Without a word of warning, I make my move, eager to punch Jones's remaining teeth down his ugly neck, when a curt, clipped yelp fills the room. Instantly, he doubles over, clutching his privates with both hands. And then, with enviable speed, April cocks her arm and slaps him across the face.

"I said NO! That's my answer and it ALWAYS WILL BE!"

At a loss, Jones staggers away from the stove and leans against the table, sucking in every breath greedily as if it's his last. Mikey extricates himself from the corner, his normally cheery expression torqued into a glower. Drawn by the commotion, Leo bounds into the room having successfully circumvented Raph, who follows closely, kneading and rolling his shoulder.

"What's going on?" Leo demands. "What's with all the shouting?"

"It's nothin'… nothin'…" Jones spits. "Just havin' a conversation with April here…"

"Yeah…" Mikey says, rolling his eyes. "If by 'conversation' you mean jammin' your tongue down her throat…"

All eyes fix on her; her eyes lock onto mine. Her cheeks burn red and she buries her face in her hands, as if blocking her line of sight will somehow render her invisible. "It's okay, Mikey…" She says sweetly. "I can handle this." Suddenly, her entire demeanor changes. Her eyes narrow and the milk and honey in her tone gives way to something primal. She takes hold of Jones by the lapel of his jacket and pulls him down to meet her gaze. "We're done. We've been done. It's over. Let it go and move on. I have."

He pulls from her clutches and straightens himself out. "Yeah…?"

He turns his head and looks to me. For an instant, our eyes meet. In his, I see a flash of pain; of anger; of embarrassment. And in that instant, in spite of all that's happened and all he's done, I feel sorry for him… until he sneers at me and opens his mouth.

"No. I get it. I totally get it. You'd rather be his WHORE than my girl…"

Everyone's eyes go wide and mouths hang open—even Raph's. I move toward Jones but April pins me in place with a glance, silently imploring me to keep my cool. She shakes her head incredulously and, after some contemplation, finds her voice:

"Donnie makes me happy. And I love him. If not being with you makes me a whore… then I'm glad to be one…"

She steps around him, folds her arms over her chest, and disappears into my lab. Once she's out of the room, Leo—a firm practitioner of chivalry—takes Jones by the arm.

"I think you should go…"

He practically drags him to the turnstiles, the tips of his Chuck Taylors flailing behind him. Mikey, Raph, and I remain in the kitchen, flabbergasted and trying to regain our bearings.

"So…" Mikey manages, drawing out the word. "That just happened. You okay, Donnie?"

It's hard for me to explain exactly how I feel, so I nod in reply. Raph shakes himself from his stupor and immediately backpedals, realizing that he not only failed, but needlessly hurt a woman he cares about.

"Donnie… I… look, about t'night, I'm so…"

After conspiring against me and trying to sabotage my relationship with April, I'm disinterested in anything he has to say. His actions are indefensible and his voice, lacking its usual bluster, sounds like nails on a chalkboard. With every syllable, my ire rises, reaching a rolling boil in seconds flat. Before he can finish his thought, I crack him across the jaw with a left hook. His head snaps around and he lands on his shell with a thud.

"Save it, Raph…" I growl in a voice I hardly recognize as my own. "And while you're at it, clean the bathroom…

As I swiftly make my way to the laboratory, ablaze with a sick satisfaction marred by only the slightest sense of shame, I prepare myself to do what I do best: repair the damage.

I find myself lightly rapping my own door to enter.

"April?"

Hearing no protest I pry the door ajar, locking it softly behind me.

My room has always been my safe haven, a place of discovery and advancement, full of all the things I love. Never more so than now. I see her standing by my desk towards the far end of the room, silhouetted by the dim glow of my lamp. Any plan of attack to make things better flies out the window, replaced by the simple desire to make her happy. That nothing else matters. Especially not a few errant words from Jones. With my years of training beneath my feet, I cross the distance like a shadow. She only notices when I am directly behind her.

"Donnie, I'm so sorry." she whispers as she turns to face me. "I completely lost it out there."

"For being a formidable contender?" I say with a slight grin, "Don't be. Casey's gone. If anything, I think you went too easy on him." At the mention of his name, a fresh bout of anger stirs me, "_Way_ too easy."

She drops her arms to her side, finally giving herself an inch of permission to relax. April is as tough as they come, yet undeniably sensitive. Sometimes it's easy to forget how courageous she has been, quite literally falling into the lives of four underground and highly lethal mutants, only to offer her discretion, friendship, and love. My family and I have spent our lives avoiding such a personal risk. She's the bravest person I know.

"You know what, Don? You're right. I'm not sorry. I just feel so sick in my stomach."

"Along with spoiled chocolate, Jones does seem to have that effect." I reach out for her, running my fingers through her hair. "And I had a brief word with Raph. He extends his deepest apologies."

Her eyes dart up to meet mine.

"That doesn't exactly sound like Raph."

"Let's just say I was talking his language."

She stops, looking me up and down. She knows me. It me scares me how much she knows me.

"Oh, Don." she says at last, "You didn't."

Her hand trails down to mine, brushing across my raw knuckles. Only the slightest wince gives clue to the truth. She catches it and a look halfway between concern and humor crosses her features. I remove her hand and kiss her wrist.

"You may be glad to hear that it did a great job of detracting some of the attention."

She shakes her head.

"You are full of surprises, you know that?"

"It was not my finest moment." I say with a quiet chuckle, "But forget about me. How are you?"

"For someone that just kneed an arrogant ass in the crotch," she gives a shrug that I almost buy as being nonchalant, "surprisingly good."

"I would have thought it cathartic."

"You have no idea."

Her laughter dies down. The hurt still lingers with her. I can read it in the way she stands and looks at the ground; how she plucks at the sleeves of her jacket. I cannot help but conclude that it was me that put her in the position to receive the brunt of Casey's wrath. I resolve to do anything to alleviate her pain. Starting with the truth.

"I pushed it too soon, telling the others. I'm sorry, April."

"It's not your fault. Raph was going to throw it in our faces. It just feels… very real now."

"Is that…is it a bad thing? You can always back out… I-I'll understand."

My offer sounds as empty as I feel. I don't know what I'd do if she took it.

"Please don't say that, Don, like everything I've told you isn't true."

I nod, the cold fear coursing through my body subsiding. In the silence I can hear the soft drone of my computer and various appliances humming on standby. Eventually I find my voice.

"Again – I apologize. I will do anything for you, April. I'm just afraid that my clueless behavior will push you away."

April smiles at me. I am helpless and powerful all at once. How she does this to me I will never know.

"Push me away?" she whispers with a glint in her eyes, "Just you try."

Her words calm me beyond measure. I forget that it was me that came in to soothe her. I attempt to get back on course.

"April, what you said out there about us–"

She gives a dismissive snigger, clearly still wounded by Casey's reprehensible behavior.

"About me being your whore?"

"Well, in that case," I tell her gently, "I think he may have us confused. I'm yours, April. Do with me what you will… anything you want. But be warned—my rates are steep."

This time she gives a playful smack across my upper plastron. Her expression changes at the sharp sound, from that of mirth to something starved and plain carnivorous.

"Anything?" she whispers.

I reach down to take her hands in my own.

"_Anything_."

"And what, exactly, _are_ your rates, Donnie?"

"I'll think you'll find the terms agreeable."

"Let me guess. You want to fix me."

The question is challenging, verging on dangerous.

"No." I say, my mouth edging upwards, confident in my reply, "I want to touch you."

At my stance, I hear a heavy breath escape her. She pushes me back into the desk where our collision causes a stack of textbooks to slump to the floor with a thud.

"I was done with those, anyway." I mutter.

"Then shut-up and _touch me_."

What can I do but oblige?

April climbs into my lap until her knees rest on the desk's edge behind me. Her kisses are voracious, and the heat we generate bordering on profane. A few more items fall to the floor around us. I don't know what. A screwdriver, perhaps? I couldn't care less. We are matter gone rampart, the excitement of particles, thermodynamics in action.

Ignited and rearing, I greedily tug at her clothes, biting at her nipples atop her shirt.

"Jesus, Donnie," she breathes lustily, "what are you doing to me?"

I feel her hands wander downwards, latching onto my tail and delicately stroking it with her pinched fingertips. My skin electrifies with pleasure.

"_April_…" I barely manage to say.

The urge to kiss her deeply overwhelms me. And so I do.

I know a thing or two about energy. In physics it is regarded as a property of objects that can be neither created nor destroyed, a form that is transferred throughout the universe. In this case I can't help but side with Leonardo, whom often talks about it as a metaphysical force that connects all things. I feel this connection with April, as she touches me, kisses me, tells me she loves me. I feel it so strongly I can almost see it.

Realizing at last where we are and what we're doing, we both halt our progression, gasping at the air as if we'd been drowning.

I see April's gaze flitter across my room, gauging the distance to the door, over to the stack of engineering manuals at our feet, before resting at the workbench that divides the room. Simultaneously my own brain charts the odds of being discovered or overheard. I have seen April ponder on many a calculation in my time, and recognize the look of her doing the same. Eventually we arrive at the same conclusion.

I'm nodding before she even asks:

"Take me home."

I glance down at the one flaw in that plan. April has excited me way too much.

"You'll have to give me a minute or I won't be able to walk from the room with my pride intact."

She smiles coyly then leans in, her lips roaming across mine like a song. It is doing anything but helping my precarious situation.

"One minute." she instructs in a hushed voice before sliding from me, "Or I won't be able to let you leave this room."

"One minute." I repeat.

"You can shower at my place." she adds as a sweetener. As if I needed it.

I inhale unsteadily, "Ten minutes."

It takes a lot of willpower to settle myself, most of it averting my eyes from April and setting to the task of straightening the already straightened items on my desk. I'd never quite realized before how much my calculator needs to remain parallel to my notepad. But calm down I do.

At last I take her hand and together we emerge from the lab, blinking like hatchlings. Seeing us, Mikey calls out:

"Guys! Ya hangin' 'round?"

Only my youngest brother remains in the living room, sprawled out on the double sofa and cradling a bowl of popcorn. As for the others, I can only speculate, although I am quite sure Raphael has slunk back to his room to sulk. I can't help but suffer a fraction of guilt that an otherwise harmless movie night has turned pear-shaped.

I answer earnestly as I can muster, "No, sorry, Mikey."

"Ah. Thought ya'd wanna take off. Don't blame ya, really. Uh… you alright, Apes? Forget about Case and Raph, I wouldn't exactly call 'em the brain trust for bright ideas."

Beside me, only slightly flustered, April nods, "I'm fine. Really. And… thanks, Mikey. I owe you one."

Their gratuity system remains an exchange of delicious home-baked goods, where April excels at desserts and Mikey practically a savant with the humble egg. The rest of us are just the fortunate bystanders of their creations.

"Where's Leo?" I venture.

"Grabbing a blanket or somethin'. I think he might even go and try talking some sense into Raph." He widens his eyes before dropping a few kernels into his mouth, "And ya say _I'm_ the idiot."

"Can you tell him I'll be back before training?"

Michelangelo pauses his chewing, "Y'know tomorrow's our day off, right?"

April and I exchange a secretive glance before I answer.

"The routinely scheduled day off we've had since time immemorial?" I ask with a straight face, "Yes, I'm aware."

"Oh. _Ohhhh._ Alrighty. I'll, ah, pass on the message."

He crunches down on another piece of popcorn, casting a knowing look at the both of us. It's as if April and I have become the night's entertainment. It's an uncomfortable feeling, being the center of attention.

"Have fun, then, you crazy kids. See ya when I see ya." He smirks and chews. Chews and smirks.

After bidding our abashed farewell, we make way for the exit, hand in hand. I honestly don't know how we make it back in one piece. Rife with our own distractions, we find ourselves in rather compromising positions in shadowy corners of the sewers before promising ourselves in ragged voices to save it for the sanctity of her abode. By the time we cross her threshold we are burning to be together. True to my word, I strip her down, only to touch her everywhere. She yields to me, and I to her. Every moment is beautiful.

A league above the surface and my mind is as clear as the Pacific Ocean. And have you ever seen the Pacific on its clearest day? It's like peering out on a perfect sheet of glass, as wide and expansive as the horizon, quietly reflecting the infinite white sky above it. There I am with her, and together we soar.

...

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A/N: Terraform: Thank you so much, lovely readers, for following along so far. Your encouragement, support, thoughts, questions and gentle prodding have been amazing and insightful! As ever, don't be afraid to feed us more! Just a little more to go...


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